Every Thought Captive
by Sandilynn Petersen
Summary: When Murdock and Amy disappear during a mission, the rest of the team have to figure out who has them: Giuseppe Tannini and his goons or someone else more sinister. Murdock thinks he knows. If he's right, Amy and he are in a whole lot of trouble from someone he swore he would never work for again.
1. Chapter 1 Captured

Every Thought Captive

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 1 Captured

Murdock glanced over to the filing cabinet. Amy's wavy dark brown hair hid her face as she checked the bottom drawer. Looking back down at the file spread before him, a photo and document laid out on the cream background of the folder, he focused the mini-camera.

_Click_

Scooping the two items and the other receipts and photos back into the manila envelope, he reached the cabinet in three strides.

"Better hurry, chica. Don' know how long we got 'fore Tannini realizes where we went to 'n' sends his fun time gorillas t' find us," he whispered. He thrust the file into her hands and took the one she offered him.

Setting the mini-camera on the desk, he flicked through the folder and found the reason Amy had selected this one out of the several files in the cabinet. Whistling under his breath at the discovery, he picked up the camera and began shooting.

_Click_

He shuffled the pages.

_Click _

"I think that's it," Amy muttered, appearing at his elbow. "This should be enough for Hannibal to use."

The walkie talkie in Murdock's pocket crackled to life. "Murdock, you there?"

He snapped one last photo and raised the walkie talkie to his ear. "Yeah, Faceman. Whatcha got?"

"Better put all the files back and get out of there. Six Tannini goons are headed your way and they don't look happy."

"Gotcha. We're all done." He watched as Amy put away the file and arranged everything on the desk back to the way it was. "'N' we're outta here. Meetcha on ground level, muchacho. Out." He tucked the walkie talkie and the camera in the pockets of his janitor uniform and took Amy's elbow, escorting her to the office door.

Opening the door a crack, he peered up and down the hallway before nodding to her and leaving the office. Once out, he gestured for her to follow.

She locked and closed the door behind her and scurried to catch up. The janitor cleaning cart they had used to disguise their actions stood outside another office door further down the hallway. He was halfway to the elevator when they both heard the sound of the car rising in the shaft_._

"Stairs?" Amy asked, her eyes wide and afraid.

"Stairs." Murdock agreed as he took her hand and ran with her the remaining steps to the door. Opening it, he muttered, "Ladies first," and gave an exaggerated bow as she passed through. The elevator down the hall let out a _ding_ and slid open with a series of squeaks and clicks. He quietly closed the stairway door behind them.

"Quick, sweetie, head downstairs." He fumbled in his pocket and placed the mini-camera in her palm. His anxious eyes met hers in a silent plea for her to obey without question. "Go!"

Slipping the camera into the pocket of her work dress, she took two steps and turned. "What'll you be doing?"

He gave her a lopsided grin and brandished his gun in answer to her question. "Now, go! I'll meetcha on the first floor." Sighing with relief as he heard her steps retreating down the stairs, he listened with his ear to the door.

So far Tannini's goons were still checking on the security of their boss's office from the sounds of their muffled voices. They had not yet figured out whether there had been intruders. Murdock decided a careful soundless retreat down the stairway was a much better solution than a confrontation with six musclebound bodyguards with no necks and plenty of firepower at their disposal.

As quietly as he could, he backed down the steps, watching the door as he did. He turned the corner and began to move quicker. One flight, two flights, still a long ways from the first floor.

_Elevator'd be nice 'bout now. _

And then he rounded the corner. Amy hung limp between two men, black knit masks covering their faces. One of them pressed a gun in her ribs more to make him aware that her life depended upon his actions than to stop her from struggling if she should regain consciousness. From the way she drooped, her weight completely supported by them, he realized she wouldn't be aware of _anything_ for several minutes at least.

Two more masked men drew their guns as he stopped in his tracks. Instinctively he raised his gun and backed up. He clutched the grip with both hands and slowly pointed it from one assailant to the next. His alert brown eyes flashed over the scene in front of him, trying but failing to see an easy way of escape for both of them.

"I'll take that, Captain Murdock," one of them insisted and held out his hand.

He glanced at Amy, a fast once-over to make sure she wasn't injured and was still breathing, and reluctantly gave up his weapon. Straightening himself to full height, he raised his hands in surrender.

_How'd he know my name 'n' rank? These ain' Tannini's boys. Who **are** they then? _

One of the men gestured for him to open the door to the level. "Hands behind your neck. Let's go." Murdock obeyed the man's command, lacing his fingers together. He felt the man clutch a hank of his uniform and shirt collar underneath and prod him forward with the barrel of the gun against his spine. They entered the hallway, deserted at this time of the early evening.

"Move it." He was nudged forward. One of the armed men walked ahead of the small group to press the button for the elevator. The pilot noticed a slight limp to the man's gait and stored the information in his memory for future identification.

_Might pay t' know the bad guys from the . . . wait a minute, **are **there any good guys in this scenario?_

"Whaddya want from us?" Murdock demanded. The elevator door hissed open. His captor shoved him forward hard enough for him to lose his balance and land on his hands and knees. The walkie talkie skittered across the linoleum floor and was confiscated by another of the men. The Captain saw him slip the device in his pants pocket and silently cheered.

_Least Hannibal thought of everythin'. Trackin' devices on the walkie talkie 'n' camera 'case we were caught. Maybe make us easy to fin' . . . I hope._

"Stand up." The masked man growled the instruction and again gripped him by his collar.

"Careful with the material there, buddy," Murdock muttered as he staggered to his feet and again laced his fingers behind his neck. For his comment he received a bruising punch to his right kidney.

He doubled over, biting the inside of his lower lip to prevent a moan from escaping. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the button his assailant pressed.

_Headed t' the roof. Means only one thing. They're gonna put us in a chopper . . . or toss us over the side o' the buildin'. _

"If the only one you want's me, why don'tcha leave the li'l lady in the elevator?" He chanced a look at Amy and the two men who were holding her upright. She showed no signs of becoming conscious. He stared in her direction, trying to ascertain if they had struck her over the head or used some other means to subdue her.

_Amy's a fighter. She wouldn'ta gone down without a fight. God, I hope they didn' hurt her. _

"Face forward." The masked man behind him used the barrel of his gun pressed into the hollow of Murdock's cheek to turn his head away from the threesome. Anger and a feeling of helplessness welled up inside the Captain.

The elevator announced its arrival on the top floor with a _ding _and a series of creaks, squeaks and clicks as its doors opened. Before them, more doors led out to the rooftop and whatever the masked men had in mind for the two of them. Somehow Murdock knew their intentions were a little more than showing them what Los Angeles looked like from thirty-two stories up.

He was correct. His captor prodded him through the doors and toward a waiting chopper, its rotors already in motion.

"Stop."

Just before they would have to duck under to reach the passenger's compartment, Murdock sensed one of the four men join his captor and force his hands down behind his back. Metal cuffs tightened around his wrists.

"Let Schreiber know we got him. Tell him and his boys to get out of town as fast as they can and meet us there."

_Schreiber? Where've I heard that name before? 'N' where're they takin' us? _

The man who had scooped up the walkie talkie dropped it onto the rooftop surface and brought one of his feet down on it hard. Murdock groaned, not realizing he had done it aloud.

One of the assailants glanced at him and laughed, a low malicious growl. He captured that sound and put it in his memory with the limp he observed earlier and the voices he heard so far.

"Do it. Let's go." Not sure who his captor was speaking to, he took one step forward. Before he could move on, he felt a pin prick at the back of his neck.

Jerking around to see what had happened, the pilot felt his legs begin to go numb and crumple beneath him.

"Whaddya do t' me?" he slurred. It had to be a heavy dose for it to act so fast, whatever it was. He guessed Seconal or some other kind of barbiturate.

_This's gonna be a mess with the other meds I take. Be lucky if I don' die from a chemical cocktail. _

It became more difficult to breathe and when he tried to focus on the chopper, it blurred before his eyes. He sensed movement around him but it was rapidly becoming harder to concentrate.

Three fuzzy figures, one being dragged between the other two, briefly loomed in front of him before crossing to the waiting aircraft. As his knees completely gave out and he could no longer keep his eyes open, he felt both arms being gripped and his body lifted slightly. The toes of his tennis shoes scraped the gravel of the roof as his assailants hauled his semi-conscious frame to the chopper and shoved him onto the floor.

The quickening _whoosh-whoosh _of the main rotor kept time with the emerging throb in his head as the bird lifted from the building and he fell into a deep sleep.


	2. Chapter 2 Signs of Struggle

Every Thought Captive

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 2 Signs of Struggle

Face watched as six Tannini muscle men disappeared inside the office building. Several minutes later, four more armed men glanced around at their surroundings before entering the doors.

_Hannibal and B. A. should be on their way to meet us. Wonder what the Colonel has planned for Tannini after this. _

Four more men entered the building, something that made Face begin to wonder.

_Is there some kind of convention going on in there just for armed goons? They can't all be Tannini's men._

He monitored the two tracking devices on separate screens. When the blips on the screen for the walkie talkie remained in one place and the other screen showed the person possessing the mini-camera on the move, he frowned. Amy and Murdock had separated. That couldn't possibly be good news.

In a few minutes both screens indicated the Captain and the reporter were in the same place and headed to the roof. That was even more suspicious. A helicopter hovered over the building before settling onto the helipad.

By the time Hannibal and B. A. arrived on the scene, Tannini's goons were on their way back to the car in which they had arrived. They looked as if they had nothing to report to Tannini. The other eight men were still in the building.

"So where's Amy and Murdock, Lieutenant?" Hannibal spoke around the stub of a cigar he had been smoking since leaving the storefront housing the Tannini escort service. The twinkle in his eye indicated he was still feeling "the jazz."

B. A. struggled out of the suit jacket he wore and tossed it unceremoniously over the back of the van's driver's seat. "Don' know why I had to be the client an' not you, Hannibal. You look better in a suit an' ya made me take off my gold to do it."

"Now, B. A. They would have recognized me in a moment if I had pretended to be looking for female company. Tannini already knew what I looked like and we couldn't run the risk of tipping them off early. They had never seen you." The Colonel smiled and ground out the cigar under his foot before glancing over the Lieutenant's shoulder at the twin screens.

"They almost had me hooked up wit' a young lady 'fore you came in." The Sergeant continued to grumble as he undid the tie and wrestled it off from around his neck. He stuffed it in a pocket of the suit jacket. He unbuttoned and took off the dress shirt to reveal a red long-sleeved knit shirt underneath. Removing a shoe box from the back of the van, he began to painstakingly drape each gold chain around his neck.

"I've always said Face wasn't the only lady-killer on this team." Hannibal winked at the Lieutenant as B. A. shot him a murderous glance. "So where are they? I'd like nothing better than to wrap this mission up and getting those documents sent to the right authorities should just about do it."

"They should be on their way downstairs but the tracking devices show them on the roof." Face glared at the two screens as if he could force the two blips to begin to move in the correct direction by sheer willpower. The walkie talkie blip vanished suddenly. Face stared at the screen in dismay.

"I think we've got trouble, Hannibal."

"A malfunction?" The Colonel squinted at the blank screen. The blip on the other screen moved a short distance, then stopped.

"Shouldn' be, Colonel. I checked those trackers myself." B. A. glowered at the two men, a hint of worry in his voice.

From high above they could hear the sound of the helicopter engine as it got ready to take off. Two of the armed men left the building and got into a parked black sedan with tinted windows.

"Face, stay with the van and watch those screens. B. A. and I'll go and check it out." Hannibal began to move away from the van, the black Sergeant following. The helicopter rose into the sky and adjusted its path slightly before taking off in a northeasterly direction.

The sedan's engine roared as the driver made a U-turn in the street and sped away. The other four men left the building on a run and scurried into another parked sedan. That car followed the other away from the scene.

"Colonel!" Face shouted to Hannibal, stopping him in his tracks. As the Colonel frowned back at him, he pointed toward the receding helicopter. "I think they went thataway."

"Amy or Murdock might still be in there. We'll go check out the roof and Tannini's office and get back here as quickly as we can. Keep your eyes on that screen and start plotting a course to follow that helicopter." Hannibal's smile disappeared as he gave the orders.

B. A. and Hannibal took the elevator to the floor where Tannini's office was located. The door was locked and there were no sounds coming from within.

"The stairs?" The Sergeant raised his eyebrows.

The Colonel nodded. "Check it out. See if there's any evidence of a struggle. I'll take the elevator to the roof. We'll meet back at the van in fifteen minutes."

Hannibal watched B. A. open the door to the stairway and then he punched the up button for the elevator. Getting in, he located the button for the roof and pressed it. Keeping his eye on the numbers to the floors as the car ascended to the roof, the Colonel felt uneasy. His hand wandered to the Smith and Wesson in its shoulder holster. He snapped off the safety strap and positioned his hand around the grip.

_Whatever happened to Murdock and Amy, it's got nothing to do with Tannini. I'm almost certain of it. But if not him, who? _

The door _ding_ed and opened to a series of creaks and squeaks. As soon as Hannibal stepped onto the rooftop, he could see why the tracking device had malfunctioned. Scooping up and pocketing the remains of the walkie talkie, he examined the gravely surface underneath him. Four faint scuff marks from something . . . _or two someones_ . . . being dragged to the helipad were the only other signs of trouble. But those signs were enough for the Colonel.

He took the elevator down to the ground floor and ran across to the van just as B. A. was settling himself into the driver's side. Face was in the back seat.

"Wherever they're going, it's out of the city, Hannibal." Face's voice was strained as the Colonel climbed in and shut his door.

Hannibal noted the edge to his Lieutenant's tone.

_I know he's worried about Murdock. They're practically like brothers. But he's been hovering closely around Amy lately, too. If he's involved with her on more than a professional level . . . _

"Gotta get movin', Colonel. Found some blood on the wall a coupla floors down. Don' know whose it is. No blood up or down from there so they mighta taken the elevator on that floor." B. A. had the engine running. He paused and glanced at the Colonel. "What about the walkie talkie?"

Hannibal pressed his lips together in a tight line before removing the smashed walkie talkie from his pocket and tossing it on the dashboard. The sight of it made the Lieutenant clench his teeth.

"Hannibal," he muttered. "Amy and Murdock . . . "

The Colonel cut off Face's sentence. "Let's go, B. A. We don't know who we're dealing with and what they want with our pilot and Amy but it can't be anything good. What's our course, Lieutenant?" He didn't want to think about the reasons behind this kidnapping and he didn't want the others to, either.

They all needed to remain focused if they were ever going to see Murdock and Amy again. Of that, he was certain.


	3. Chapter 3 Sight Unseen

Every Thought Captive

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 3 Sight Unseen

Murdock woke slowly to the sound of a decidedly feminine moan somewhere near him. He thought he recognized the voice, if you could call it that, but he couldn't be sure. The headache which he fell asleep with came back full force and throbbed dully across his forehead. When he tried to open his eyes, all he could see was black around him.

_Hann'bal had me doin' somethin' important. Don' 'member what it was. _

Whatever it was, he figured it had to have something to do with the producer of the moan he heard upon regaining consciousness.

_Don' even know where I am. _

He took in some deep even breaths to get oxygen-rich blood flowing to his brain again. Maybe then he would remember. The moan sounded again, this time accompanied by a softly murmured "Murdock?"

_I know that voice. _

"Amy? Chica, is that you?" He tried to reach out in the blackness to find her but discovered his wrists restrained to what seemed to be a chair with arms. His ankles were restrained in the same manner to the chair legs. When he pushed against the restraints, he detected a wide band of some kind around his chest and another over his thighs, preventing him from moving very much.

"I can't get t' you. Can you get t' me?" He strained to hear from which direction her voice was coming but she did not answer. "Amy? Ya still with me?" Her failure to respond sent a shiver of apprehension up his spine.

There was a small whimper to his left and he turned his head toward the sound. "Talk t' me, darlin'. Are ya hurt?"

He felt a swell of protectiveness rise up within him. At the same time, he realized he was helpless to do anything if she _was_ injured. Gritting his teeth he struggled harder against his bonds.

"Murdock?" Her voice was like that of a frightened child. She sounded close to tears.

"I'm here, chica. Don' stop talkin', 'kay? Now tell me if you're hurt." He held his breath, waiting for her to answer.

She began to cry. Her sobs wrenched at Murdock's heart and he renewed his efforts to get free.

"I can't see ya, Amy. Can you see me?" He hoped she would respond with either a yes or no. Anything but the hitching sniffles he could do nothing to comfort.

"I . . . I can see you." Her soft answer did not reassure him.

He realized something new with her statement. What he thought was a darkened room may not have been dark after all. If Amy could see him but he couldn't see her . . . By squinting, he felt the coarse fibers of a cloth rub slightly against the skin around his eyes.

He was blindfolded. Maybe the ones who left him in this condition were even now watching him. Sensory deprivation, it was called, and for someone who reveled in the wide open azure of the sky, blindness, no matter how temporary, was the worst.

"Sweetie, what else do you see? Tell me what the room looks like, 'kay?" He tried to prevent his voice from reflecting the uneasy feeling he had about all of this.

_All seems somehow familiar, like I been here 'fore. _

His thought processes were beginning to race randomly from one thing to another. It wouldn't be long, fifteen minutes to a half hour, before he would start to "see" tiny bright white dots. The hallucinations and anxiety attacks would soon follow. It was a direct result from being blindfolded for long periods of time. He knew that from his experiences in the POW camps, during past missions, through his Agency training . . .

_Oh, God. Is that what this is?But why'd they grab Amy? Why not jus' me? Means I gotta get 's much info 'bout my surroundin's as I can now 'fore I lose my mind. _

His other senses were compensating for his loss of vision. He could smell antiseptic. The heavy odor barely covered the faint scent of sweat and blood. His ear picked up the _plunk-plunk_ of liquid drops splashing onto a hard surface from somewhere to his right . . . a sink, maybe? The surface sounded metallic, maybe stainless steel.

There was a slight coolness to the air. He felt wisps of hair on his head gently moving and he reasoned that there must be a vent somewhere above him circulating the air in the room. Mildly surprised, he sensed something else. He had been stripped down to his boxers. A shiver passed through his body and he could feel the hairs on his arms and legs raise with the corresponding goose bumps.

When Amy began to describe what she saw, her words served to confirm what he was already suspecting.

Her voice was so quiet and childlike, he had to work hard to hear and understand all of what she said.

"White walls. White acoustic tile ceiling. White tile floor. A long table with straps hanging from it. A cart with metal things in a tray. Looks like stuff a doctor would use. Shelves and tables along a wall. Beakers, test tubes, burners . . . " her voice trailed off.

"Go on. Yer doin' good." He felt panic rising from the pit of his stomach.

"Why do you have those tubes in your arms?" Her question startled him. Until then, he had not felt them because he could barely move his restrained arms.

"I don' know, sweetie." Truth was, he had a bad hunch he knew _exactly_ why they were there and the answer was not good. "Keep talkin'. Ya gotta keep talkin'."

"I'm bleeding." That bit of information was delivered in such an innocent, confused tone, he wondered if they, whoever they were, gave her something to disorient her.

He clenched his fists, something he was still able to do, and cautiously asked, "Where're you bleedin', darlin'?"

No answer but a small shuddering sigh.

"Amy, ya gotta talk t' me."

Still no answer.

"Chica?" He struggled against the restraints only to hear another moan and a soft gasp. A sound of squeaking wheels and a door opening and shutting made him move with more urgency, trying to escape the bonds. Had they taken her away? And where? The restraints were chafing, rubbing the topmost layer of skin away from his wrists and ankles.

_Pain is good. It'll keep my mind focused . . . maybe. _

"_Amy?_" He shouted her name as if she would answer more readily if she heard it louder.

She didn't respond. Silence except for the _plunk-plunk_ of droplets against metal and a very faint mechanical hum.

If he listened to that for much longer his mind would conjure up all kinds of horrific hallucinations. Digging his fingernails into both palms until he was certain he was almost piercing the skin, rubbing the already broken skin of his wrists and ankles against the restraints, he created enough pain to keep the internal demons at bay. At least, for now.

Sooner or later, he knew he would grow weary, his efforts would stop and the hallucinations would begin. Or his captors would come up with a new way to make his life miserable. Either way, he was in for a highly unpleasant time.


	4. Chapter 4 One of the Good Guys

Every Thought Captive

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 4 One of the Good Guys

As they left Los Angeles via US-15 and headed toward Las Vegas, Hannibal kept his eyes on the moving dot on the tracking screen. By the time the van entered Barstow, the helicopter was about 120 miles north of Las Vegas and heading northeast toward the Nevada-Utah border.

It was then Hannibal knew Amy and Murdock had not simply been kidnapped.

Whoever took them was not seeking ransom or even using them as bargaining chips to get their hands on the team to turn them in and collect a reward. They would have holed up somewhere nearby if that was their plan. There would have been a telephone call to let the team know what they had to do to get their two friends back. They would not have been taken out of state and not into the more remote regions of Nevada.

_Whoever these goons are they either don't know about the rest of us or they don't care who we are. _

Hannibal didn't know why Amy and Murdock had been taken or by whom but the longer they were on the road, the more convinced he was that they couldn't stop for any extended period of time. They had to keep moving, continue following the tracking device on the mini-camera and hope the chopper landed soon.

Except for a few terse commands the Colonel gave to B. A. to direct them on their way, the three men had been silent for about two and a half hours.

Face broke the silence. "That chopper's going faster than we are and as the crow flies. We're still going to be hours behind them when they do get to their destination. Plenty of time to set up an ambush for us." His hands were white-knuckled fists in his lap.

"That is, if they know or care that we're tracking them. Wherever they land, I'm not about to go in with guns blazing until we have an opportunity to figure out what's going on." Hannibal sat back in his seat and relit his cigar. He squinted through the smoke at the lone screen showing the mini-camera was still in flight somewhere in west central Utah.

_Western Utah . . . Great Basin area, salt flats . . . maybe they're going to Salt Lake City? Or . . . _

Face interrupted Hannibal's musing. "Whoever they are, there were enough of them covering that building to make sure Amy and Murdock didn't slip past them. Besides whoever was flying the chopper, I counted eight. They weren't associated with Tannini." The Lieutenant shook his head and stared at the Colonel. "So who are they?"

"Someone with an ol' grudge against Murdock? Someone wantin' to keep Amy from a story?" B. A. frowned. Even to him, the second suggestion didn't seem likely. Not with the Tannini story foremost in the reporter's mind. Like the Lieutenant said, these kidnappers were not Tannini's goons.

The first idea didn't make sense either, come to think of it. Anyone bearing a grudge against the Captain would likely have one against the entire team. Not knowing who the captors were or why this happened was unsettling him.

One thing he did know for certain: the blood he saw on the stairway wall was from either Amy or Murdock and it meant their captors didn't care if someone got injured. The thought of that blood smeared on the wall reminded him of another sure thing. Someone was going to pay for whatever harm came to his friends. The muscular Sergeant gripped the steering wheel tighter and pressed a little harder on the accelerator.

Hannibal continued to draw on the cigar and stare out the window at the high desert scenery. "We'll know more when the chopper finally lands." The worry in his voice was not reassuring to either of the other two men.

_But when and where are they going to land? _was the foremost question none of them spoke aloud.

The van was about two hours away from Las Vegas when the blip on the tracking screen stopped moving. The chopper had landed somewhere in west central Utah. Plotting the location on a map, Hannibal frowned.

"If this is where I think it is, we'll be walking into a lion's den. All the more reason to make sure of what we're doing before we do it."

Face peered at the Colonel. "Why? Where's the bird landed?"

Hannibal's mouth was set in a hard line. "Dugway Proving Grounds."

The Lieutenant pushed his body in the gap between the two front seats to stare at the screen and then at the map. His mouth opened but he remained speechless.

B. A. flashed a surprised look at the Colonel before muttering, "What's the fool gone and got himself into now?"

Three hours passed. The creosote bushes of the Mojave Desert region gave way to the array of vegetation characteristic of the southwestern reaches of the Great Basin. Clumps of green rabbitbrush, desert peach and sagebrush along with other ground-clinging shrubs and grasses dotted the roadside shoulders and hill slopes.

After a little over six hours on the road, B. A. showed signs of road fatigue.

"If you need someone to spell you, Sergeant . . ." the Colonel suggested after the black man snapped awake once more and swerved back onto the road from the shoulder.

The Sergeant tightened his grip on the steering wheel and growled his answer. "Pull off to the side to switch drivers an' we waste time. Fool an' Amy could be dead by the time we get there if we stop 'long the way."

The burly black man rubbed one eye and stifled a yawn. "Besides, nobody gets behind the wheel of my ride but me."

Hannibal glanced at B. A. out of the corner of his eye and smiled grimly. "We should plan on getting gas in Alamo or we'll be running on fumes through some mighty inhospitable country. It's about ten miles from here."

He noted the Sergeant's eyes drift down to the fuel gauge and sullenly nod his agreement.

"Okay. We'll stop . . . but only to gas up."

Hannibal's hand strayed to the vial of etomidate in his pocket. He knew B. A. was worried but they couldn't charge into the situation like the Sergeant wanted after twelve hours on the road either.

_Whether B. A. wants to or not, he's going to take a nap. All of us need to be well-rested if we're going to rescue Amy and Murdock. _

oooooo

_Plunk . . . plunk . . . _

The water droplets continued to fall, each _plunk _spaced a second after the preceding one. Murdock knew that to be true. After Amy was taken from the room, he started counting out loud, "One thousand one, one thousand two . . ." in time to the dripping tap. He got all the way to "one thousand sixty-seven" before giving it up for something that would better focus his thoughts.

He was running out of ways to keep his mind from hallucinating.

_If they wanted me so bad, why ain' one o' them comin' t' tell me why they tracked me down? Bein' 'lone like this's gonna drive me crazy 'fore long. 'N' they got Amy somewhere. No tellin' what they're gonna do t' her once they figure out she's a reporter. _

He leaned his head back as far as it would go to relieve the tension in his shoulders and groaned with frustration.

_Nothin' I can do but wait, try t' keep my min' clear. _

For a while, he tried to name every comic book superhero and villain he could think of using the alphabet.

_Avalanche . . . definitely a supervillain . . ._

_. . . um, Bullseye, 'nother villain . . ._

_. . . Captain 'merica . . . good guy . . . _

As he thought of Captain America and the serum that transformed Steve Rogers into the superhero, Murdock shuddered.

_Stuff like that's way too close t' the truth, ' least the part where they drug ya t' make ya inta somethin' they can use. 'N' all in the name o' doin' somethin' for the good o' the country ya love. _

His thoughts swirled as he remembered his own recruitment into the Agency. Henderson told him the experiments he was volunteering for were vital to the security of the United States. Henderson told him they had been tracking him for quite some time, had noticed his above-average intelligence. His talents could be used to fight the communist threat. He believed him.

He had never thought of himself as superhero material. He was just doing what he could to fight for right.

Visions surfaced in his mind of being strapped down to a gurney for hours, his head encased in a close-fitting hood that kept him from seeing and hearing. He remembered an IV in one arm that fed him barbiturates until he almost fell asleep. Then it was shut down to allow amphetamines coursing through the other IV to drive him to the point of convulsions. Try as he might, he never did figure out the purpose of that particular experiment for which he was an involuntary volunteer. Then there was the remote viewing, the travel through dimensions of time and space.

_Like the Twilight Zone, only scarier. _

He shook his head to clear his mind of the memories and continued on with his alphabetical name game.

_D . . . Daredevil . . . one o' the good guys . . ._


	5. Chapter 5 Limpy

Every Thought Captive

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 5 Limpy

He had been through the alphabet, naming every comic book character he could remember . . . twice. The exercise was preventing him from hallucinating but it didn't subdue his concern over Amy's safety and welfare.

He wondered why his captors were leaving him alone for so long. Not that he wanted to find out what they wanted him for. If it was anything like the last mission he did for the Agency . . .

_No! I won' think o' that. That wasn' me. Looked 'n' talked like me, but that wasn' me. Think o' the present, not the past . . . think o' the present . . ._

Murdock remembered the team's discussion of Hannibal's plan to bring the Tannini organization to justice. That seemed so very long ago now. How long ago he had no way of knowing. Time was being measured by the sound of liquid dripping and the pain he was inflicting upon himself to keep his mind focused.

Both Face and he had argued with Hannibal about allowing her to accompany Murdock to Giuseppe Tannini's office. The Colonel didn't like the idea either but the journalist showed no signs of giving up.

"It's dangerous, Colonel. You know that." Face cast an overly protective glance in Amy's direction. "If Tannini's doing what we think he's doing and they get caught, he'll think nothing of killing Murdock and selling Amy into prostitution to the highest bidder."

"Gotta agree, Hannibal. I got my cloak to hide _me_ when I go in, but it sure ain' big 'nough to hide the both o' us." He blushed when he realized what he said and gave Amy a sheepish grin. "Not sayin' yer chubby 'r anythin', darlin'."

The invisibility cloak was Murdock's latest fixation ever since he read the latest _Fantastic Four _comic book. In it, The Invisible Woman sneaked into a Mob boss's office and emerged with a file full of incriminating documents. Sue Storm not only could make herself invisible with her own superhero powers but she could conjure up force fields to protect herself and others.

_That would be useful,_ he thought to himself as they discussed Hannibal's plan. For now, he was content to use what he had. He patted the pocket of his jacket where his invisibility cloak was.

"It's barely big 'nough to hide Billy's doghouse from the head nurse. It'd be a tight squeeze under that cloak for the two o' us." He gave Face a mischievous grin. "Come to think o' it, that might be kinda fun. Right, chica? _Ow!_" Murdock protested as the Lieutenant swatted him across the head with a rolled up newspaper. The blow sent the pilot's navy blue cap flying and him ducking for cover in case Face decided to follow it up with another swat.

B. A. snorted. "Hit 'im again, Faceman. Make the fool realize ain't no such thing as a cloak makes you invisible. There's nothin' in that pocket of yours and there ain't no dog neither."

The pilot crossed his arms and pouted as he looked at Face and B. A. with disgust. "You o' so li'l faith," he fumed.

"That's alright, Murdock. I don't need a cloak. I can be as careful as the rest of you. Besides, I know the names you're looking for from the research I've done on this story so far." Amy put her hands on her hips and stared the Colonel in the eyes.

_Man, she's cute when she's stubborn, _Murdock thought to himself as he gave her a discreet once-over. _No wonder Faceman's got his sights on 'er. _

"It's either both of us or you don't get the list of names to send Tannini away and shut down his operation." The journalist arched an eyebrow and waited. Murdock smirked, knowing Hannibal and Face together were no match for Amy when she was determined to be part of a mission.

_Heck, even B. A. can' hold 'er down when she wants t' do somethin' bad 'nough. _

In the end, Hannibal grudgingly agreed to her terms.

As B. A. and the Colonel created a diversion at the building housing Tannini's escort service storefront, Face served as a lookout for Amy and Murdock. Amy went in disguised as an after hours cleaning lady. Murdock reluctantly wore a janitor's uniform, insisting his cloak was disguise enough. Even so, Amy noted he was careful to avoid the security cameras.

They had _almost_ been successful.

Murdock frowned behind the blindfold. They _would_ have been successful if not for the quartet of ski-masked men.

_Pretty sure who these losers work for, too. Lord help the both o' us if I'm right. _

All he needed to hear was one voice, a voice as familiar to him as Hannibal's, Face's or B. A.'s to confirm his suspicions. A voice he never wanted to hear again after the last mission he did for the Company which had gone south on them all ten years before. The mission that never quite made it into his official military record or any other, for that matter.

A door opened and closed again with a click. Footsteps, one person, a person who seemed to have an uneven gait, approached him. He remembered back to the man who had pressed the elevator button. "Limpy" was the name Murdock decided to assign his captor.

He smirked at his unseen visitor. "Glad ya came t' visit. Pull up a chair, rest a spell."

He wasn't surprised when his comment yielded a full force back hand blow that snapped his head to the side. Tasting blood from the laceration in his mouth, feeling the pain in his cheekbone and cheek, he took a deep breath and silently thanked the man for refocusing his thoughts.

_Pretty sure Limpy won' tell me where Amy is even if I asked. Conversation ain' what any o' these guys're 'bout. _

Limpy was snugging up the restraints, checking what Murdock assumed was the IV tubes in both arms. A localized sting in the vicinity of one of the entry points alerted him to what else the man was doing.

"So what kinda juice ya feedin' inta me?" he drawled. _'N' what's it gonna do t' me? _

No answer. With a final tug on one of the wrist restraints, Limpy seemed satisfied. The pilot heard uneven footsteps walk away to his right. They returned with the sound of squeaking wheels accompanying them.

Murdock tried thinking of something he could hum to prevent the fear of the unknown from consuming him but all he could think of was the Rolling Stones' song "Paint It Black." In the condition he found himself, the lyrics to the third verse were not encouraging.

_I look inside myself and see my heart is black.  
I see my red door and it has been painted black.  
Maybe then I'll fade away and not have to face the facts;  
It's not easy facing up when your whole world is black. _

He heard more squeaky wheels approaching from the left. Round adhesive-backed patches were being applied to both arms and calves. He had felt the same type of sensation during stress tests at the VA hospital. The strap around his chest loosened to allow six more patches to be placed. Then it was tightened up again in a new position just under the patches. A click from behind his left shoulder and a series of steady _beep_s told him what had just been done.

_Why do they gotta monitor my heart? This ain' lookin' good. _

Sweat broke out over his body. The open wounds where he had torn his skin open from rubbing against the restraints burned. Droplets beaded on his chest, back and forehead and trickled down.

The heart rate monitor was beeping faster. His own pulse was thundering in his ears.

"What'd ya give me?" He forced the words out and heard no responding sound but the quickening _beep_s to his left.

_Amphetamines? This's gonna be a chemical train wreck with the other stuff I take. _

He groaned his growing discomfort. The shuffling footsteps paused beside him. Someone made sure the wrist and ankle restraints and the strap over his thighs and abdomen were tight. Then the footsteps receded. A door clicked shut in the distance.

His mind was racing too fast. Impossible thoughts ricocheted around in the deep recesses of his brain and created panic.

_No more will my green sea go turn a deeper blue.  
I could not foresee this thing happening to you.  
If I look hard enough into the setting sun,  
My love will laugh with me before the morning comes._

His head lolled back as wave after wave of whispered voices threatened him. He began to descend into a psychotic nightmare courtesy of a simple blindfold and the drugs being pumped into his veins through the IV. He could not control the emergence of the white dots nor what they morphed into after appearing. Nor could he stop the series of terrified cries which escaped his lips as in his mind the images with the slavering jaws and ravenous appetites attacked him.


	6. Chapter 6 Waking

Every Thought Captive

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 6 Waking

Amy's eyes moved rapidly back and forth under her closed lids and her lips bore a faint smile as she started to wake up.

Her dream environment, one filled with a candlelight dinner and Face's presence, had been so pleasant that she didn't want to open her eyes to reality.

But reality demanded attention.

From somewhere in the building she heard faint terrified cries of "No! No! Stay away!" that sounded way too much like Murdock's voice.

The pilot she knew faced danger with a thick veneer of craziness, not with frightened ranting.

_That couldn't be Murdock, could it? It has to be someone else, right? _

The thought it might be someone else was even more alarming.

_Maybe they'll take me next? _

The fear she remembered feeling at Jamestown when she and all but Murdock had been captured and prepared to die flooded back into her being. As she listened more closely, her stomach knotted when she realized it _was_ the voice of Captain H. M. Murdock.

She rarely heard him yell with such obvious fear. The few times she had, she was kept out of the room until one of the guys, usually Face or Hannibal, brought him out of the nightmare or flashback. She never knew if it was to protect her from his more violent behavior or to protect him from the humiliation of being unable to control his outburst.

When she finally saw him after one of those episodes, he looked like he had been wrestled out of the tormenting grips of a myriad of demons. His smile wasn't as genuine and his bloodshot red-rimmed eyes darted around watching every shadow for invisible enemies that never materialized.

Sometimes he bore visible bruises and cuts from the internal battle. She wasn't sure how that could have happened when the guys watched his mental condition so closely. The guys wouldn't have done that to him. And they would protect him from himself.

_But the guys aren't here to help him this time, are they? Wherever here is, that is. _

The wailing cries alone were enough to wake her the rest of the way.

_I have to help him. _

For a few moments she stared in confusion at the off-white acoustic tile ceiling and then around her. There wasn't much to see. A light gray plastic wastecan was located beside the bed on which she lay. The bed was the only piece of furniture in the room. The gray metal door opposite her had a small observation window with a wire screen over it. Fluorescent lights set into the ceiling lit the windowless room.

_Murdock's room at the V. A. hospital is fancier than this. _

She sat up abruptly, her eyes wide with concern, with the next tormented howl she heard. _"You ain' real!" _the pilot screamed.

_That's Murdock and he sounds like he's in pain. _

Too late, she realized she should have risen more slowly. The queasy feeling that gripped her increased until she had to grab the wastecan and use it to empty her stomach of its contents. Once done, she collapsed back onto the bed and closed her eyes.

_I can't do him much good until I figure out how badly I'm hurt. My guess? A mild concussion. _

Her head throbbed all over but especially in the back. With trembling fingers she explored the back of her skull and discovered a large matted area in her hair and under it a gash that was very tender to the touch and still seeping fluid.

The memories of what happened to cause that wound came back. Four men charging up the stairwell as she was scurrying down. All four in black ski masks, all four with handguns. She met them, turned to retrace her steps back to where Murdock was and felt one of them grab her arms from behind.

Shouting a warning was out of the question. She would bring Tannini's men in on top of them and they would be caught in the crossfire. She struggled briefly, then felt a searing white hot pain at the back of her head and fell backwards, her head connecting with the wall, before everything turned black.

_Whoever gave me this headache must have captured Murdock as well. _

She remembered waking to the sight of the near naked pilot strapped into a chair, IV tubes in both arms, a long black blindfold over his eyes and knotted at the back of his head. He spoke to her with a worried voice, wanted her to tell him something . . .

. . . _but I don't remember what. _

He didn't sound afraid until the man with the cold eyes wheeled the gurney she was strapped to out of the door. She heard him shout her name. Then the man plunged a needle into her arm and she drifted off to sleep. Amy shivered at the memory of Murdock's desperate voice.

_Why didn't I listen to Hannibal and Face and let them figure out how to get Tannini's records? Maybe Murdock would have been able to get away from these men if I hadn't been in danger. _

A door swooshed open and a squeaking sound of wheels accompanied by choked sobs and wails drew nearer. Another door creaked open and the anguished sounds faded as it slammed shut.

She attempted to sit up again and noticed she was still wearing the dress she was disguised in when captured. Holding her breath, she slipped her hand into the pocket.

_If the camera is still there, Hannibal, Face and B. A. will know where to look for us. _

But her hand came up empty. She sighed in frustration and stood. Stumbling to the door, she tried the door knob and found it locked.

_I should have guessed as much. _

The door opened inward so she couldn't have broken it down if she tried. She peered as far as she could up and down the hall outside. She saw nothing but other gray metal doors like hers.

_Murdock, where are you? And what do these people want from you and me? _

A gray-haired man in a lab coat, its white sleeves speckled with red splotches left a room down the hall.

The screamed pleas increased in frequency and volume for a few brief moments. "Don' leave me 'lone with them! Don' leave me. . ." As the door closed and the man's two assistants followed him, the voice muffled again.

One of the assistants pushed a gurney. As the doctor approached, Amy shrank back toward the far corner of the room. A key rattled in the lock and the door opened. The three men eyed her from the hallway before entering and pulling the door shut behind them.

"Miss Allen?" The man with the pronounced limp smiled at her and motioned for his helpers to take hold of her and restrain her on the gurney.

oooooo

B. A. opened his eyes to find Hannibal smoking his cigar and scrutinizing him from the front passenger's seat of the van.

He propped himself on one elbow and scrubbed at his eyes with a fleshy hand. "Oh man. Don't tell me ya did it to me again, Colonel."

Hannibal gave him a grim smile and said, "Okay, I won't tell you."

The Sergeant slowly sat up from his position on the floor. "Where are we and who's been messin' wit' my ride?"

"Between Face and me, we got it here to Simpson Springs without much problem." Hannibal squinted at him through the cigar smoke with a sly gleam in his eye. "And _you _got some rest."

The black man frowned his confusion. "Where the heck's Simpson Springs? I thought you said the chopper went to Dugway Proving Grounds." He glanced toward the driver's seat. "An' where's Faceman? We gotta go rescue the fool an' Amy."

The Colonel shook his head and put out a restraining hand as the Sergeant moved to open the side door of the van and get out. "Not so fast, B. A. We have a good idea where the mini-camera is but there's no guarantee Amy and Murdock are in the same place with it. We have to figure out the security around the perimeter of the area and where they are being held before we run in there. It's a military installation, after all."

B. A. growled his impatience.

"We're going to set up our base camp here in the campground. It's the closest spot we could find to Granite Peak where the signal seems to be originating. It's still a little over an hour away." The Colonel gauged the other man's reaction. Only when B. A. scowled and seemed to agree did Hannibal open the van door to climb out.

"So where's Faceman?" The Sergeant craned his neck around as he got out and stood stretching his cramped limbs.

"Well, if he's going to be a geology professor looking for geodes he has to get a few tools to look the part. We rented a car in Tooele and he's getting what he needs. He'll meet us back here." The older man busied himself setting up a tent. After a sharp look to see if Hannibal was joking, the black man moved to help the Colonel.

"You're not thinkin' of havin' Faceman crash the perimeter just to test the security."

"No, I'm thinking of having Professor Horace Pepper accidentally stumble across the Proving Ground boundaries around the Granite Peak area in his quest to find the perfect geode."

B. A. couldn't tell for sure but he thought he caught a familiar tone to the Colonel's response. He rolled his eyes and muttered, "He's on the jazz again."

oooooo

The equidistant white dots reshaped into helicopter rotor blades rapidly rotating and inching toward him. At the center of each set of blades a sharp-toothed mouth gaped open and waited to feed on his shredded flesh. He almost thought he saw the mouths grin with his first outburst.

"No! No! Stay away!" He heard the anguished scream before he realized it came from his own mouth. He couldn't prevent the cries from continuing. The nightmarish white dot shapes were too real in his mind.

Murdock remembered. The part of his CIA training he had blocked from his memory after the last mission gone south came back to him. This was the real reason he went insane and was committed to the V. A. hospital psych ward. The remote viewing he did for the Agency eventually showed its darker side. He had to get out in order to survive.

The first set of blades neared and skimmed his chest. He felt a patch of skin pared away before the next white dot image darted toward him and peeled back the skin on another area around his rib cage. He felt rather than saw blood streaming from the two wounds down his sweat-slick torso.

He yelled out at the dots, _"You ain' real!"_

Someone chuckled nearby. He hadn't been aware of anyone entering the room where he was until now.

"Do you remember us now, Captain Murdock?"

_Oh God, no! _

It was the voice he hoped he would not hear ever again. At the sound of authority from the speaker the white rotor blades with the slavering toothed maws morphed back into white dots.

He had never been so terrified . . . or so thankful . . . to hear Jackson's voice as he was now.

But instead of acknowledging Jackson's question, Murdock broke down into a series of choked sobs and wails.

He felt himself being unstrapped from the chair and restrapped onto a gurney. Resistance was useless.

_They ain' gonna take off the blindfold. They ain' takin' out the IVs either._

They were on the move, the wheels of the gurney loudly squeaking under him. Cool air whooshed around him as a door opened and the gurney passed through it.

He couldn't prevent his cries and sobbing. His mind had become his own enemy.

Another door opened. Three men unbuckled the straps and lifted him onto what felt like a firm mattress. His wrists and ankles were secured with soft restraints to the bed frame. As he heard his captors leave with the gurney, he screamed again and again.

"Don' leave me 'lone with them! Don' leave me 'lone!"


	7. Chapter 7 Of Geodes and Nosy Reporters

Every Thought Captive

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 7 Of Geodes and Nosy Reporters

Face peered at the ground from behind glasses with lenses more than a quarter inch thick. Mopping the perspiration from his forehead with a white handkerchief, he readjusted his boonie hat. He had been at his job for almost a half hour.

_If Hannibal thought that testing the security at the perimeter of Dugway was such a great idea, why didn't he do it himself? _

At this moment, B. A. and Hannibal were somewhere on the Dugway Range. They were hoping to somehow climb to the summit of Castle Mountain 6748 feet above sea level to get a view of Granite Peak and its surrundings, about fifteen miles away.

_Maybe all that hiking in this heat isn't such a great part of the mission either. But I'm the one walking into the arms of the military. _

He took a swig from his water bottle before hacking at the soft soil with his miners' pick. Striking something solid, he laid the tool aside and moved earth with his fingers until the rock came into view. Once he held the sphere in his hand, he used the hammer to break it apart. A cluster of purplish quartz crystals filled the central cavity.

"Bingo!" he muttered under his breath.

_All I need is two or three of these in my specimen bag to convince anyone I meet that I'm doing what I'm supposed to be doing. _

The specimens had to be rough cut to be convincing. They couldn't be of the gift store variety. He rose to his feet and dug into the dirt with his shovel. Hefting one of the three-inch diameter stones that he turned over, he tossed it to the side.

_Too heavy to be a geode. _

He needed one more specimen before leaving the Dugway Geode Beds and heading west on the Simpson Springs-Callao Road. After approximately six miles, he would turn to the right and head toward Stark Road.

_Only I won't be going as far as Stark Road. _

Less than two miles from the Proving Grounds boundary, Face would park his rental car on a side road to the right and hike the rest of the way through the scrub brush and desolation in the direction of Granite Peak.

He fully expected to be discovered before he wandered all the way to the mountain. He hoped he would be escorted out of the Proving Grounds. If he was lucky, he could act enough like a bumbling geology professor to make them believe he accidentally strayed too far north.

_I hope they buy my disguise. I'm definitely not Indiana Jones and I'm not trying to find any Ark of the Covenant. I'm just trying to locate my friends. _

If they sent off his fingerprints and photo for positive identification, he would be detained and possibly arrested. But finding Amy and Murdock would be worth the risk and effort. He had to remind himself of that.

oooooo

"You were sent to retrieve Captain Murdock. Your stupidity has made our plans more difficult to fulfill, Doctor Stafford. Miss Allen complicates matters." The scowling man with the shock of salt-and-pepper hair jabbed a finger at the doctor standing stiffly in front of him.

"The Captain was armed. He wouldn't have willingly come with us. Miss Allen was the persuasive factor that made his decision easier." The gray-haired doctor leaned against the wall, taking the weight off his twisted left leg, a cold smile on his face.

"She's a reporter. If she remembers anything about the past twenty-four hours . . . "

Doctor Stafford interrupted. "Colonel Jackson, I have it all under control. Miss Allen will not remember much of anything."

Jackson abruptly turned away from the man in the lab coat. "Those are _details_ I do not need to know. Where did you put Captain Murdock after I left him? I wish to speak to him."

"Room 27. But he won't be in any condition to talk to anyone for a while. The LSD may take hours to wear off."

Jackson pivoted in place and scrutinized the other man's face for a second. "LSD?"

The doctor nodded with a smirk. "A throwback to the good old days when we were looking for ways to loosen tongues. The Captain seems to be having what is called in the vernacular a 'bad trip.' He's seeing things which aren't there." Frowning, Stafford added, "But I have no idea how the two wounds happened on his chest. Unless a remote influencer has been at work. But I wasn't told that was going to be part of the experiment."

The other man narrowed his eyes at the doctor and smiled. "That's right. You weren't. And _those_ are details _you_ do not need to know." Leaving Stafford with his mouth agape, Jackson strode quickly down the hall toward Room 27.

oooooo

Stafford listened at the door to the lab for a minute before opening the door. From the sound of Miss Allen's soft crying, his assistant must be keeping her entertained.

He was almost sorry he had to give such a large dose of flunitrazepam to the reporter. She was pretty, and he would have liked to have given her something more to remember him by than relaxed muscles, a sedated state and amnesia.

Flunitazepam was a relatively new drug. Created in the early 1970s and used for surgical purposes in Europe, it had not yet been approved in the United States. That didn't mean certain agencies of the government, notably the one for which he worked, were not experimenting with it.

The drug was not going to leave her with any memory of what happened after it was given to her. They could keep her in that state until their business with Captain Murdock was done.

_But Colonel Jackson wants her out of the way. And the bosses above him won't want any of what we are doing released to the general public. They don't want her to remember anything she has seen. They don't want her to wonder what happened to the Captain she was with. Jackson didn't say kill her, though. At least not in so many words. _

He sighed and reached in his lab coat to feel for the vial. As he did, his hand brushed the mini-camera he confiscated from her dress pocket.

_Too bad she's a reporter. _

His smile faded when he opened the door. His assistant leaned over the gurney, his hand cupping the reporter's face. Her frightened eyes searched both men's faces as the doctor approached, drawing the dose of flunitazepam into the syringe.

"Time for Miss Allen's medicine, Mister Rollag. You won't remember a thing about your stay here." As his assistant held Amy's arm still, Stafford injected the drug into her vein. "And that's for _everyone's_ good, including your Captain Murdock.

oooooo

B. A. drank heavily from the canteen and handed it to Hannibal. Swiping one hand across his mouth, he squinted ahead at Granite Peak in the distance.

"An' that's where the signal ends, huh, Colonel?" Shaking his head, the burly mechanic took out the super high-powered binoculars and adjusted them. He pointed them in the direction of the mountain and focused the lenses.

"See any movement at all, Sergeant?" Hannibal held a lighter to a new cigar and waited for B. A. to respond.

"Nothin', absolutely nothin's moving . . . wait a minute . . . "

The _whump-whump_ of a helicopter approaching from the east preceded any sighting of it. With a new target to watch in the sky, B. A. swung the binoculars over to trace its path as it landed at the foot of the mountain.

A car waited at the base of Granite Peak. The Sergeant watched as the chopper's passengers left the aircraft and ducked into the vehicle. He lowered the binoculars and handed them to Hannibal.

"Think that's got anything to do with Amy and the fool's kidnappin'?" B. A.'s forehead creased even more with concern. It was one thing to be rescuing his friends from the criminals they encountered during their missions. This was the government, probably the military. Everything about the set-up they were going into made his skin crawl.

"Likely. Granite Peak was used by the Army Special Projects Division for testing biological weapons. The place is supposed to be huge and self-supporting. There's an underground storage facility in the mountain itself." The smoke from the Colonel's cigar curled around him as he clenched it between his teeth and continued to watch through the binoculars.

"Got a bad feelin' about this, Hannibal." The black man kept his eyes on the helicopter as it left the parked car and took off.

Instead of flying back the way it came, the chopper made a change in its flight pattern, turning toward Castle Mountain.

"Duck, B. A.!"

Both men flattened themselves onto the ground as the helicopter did a surveying fly-over of the Dugway Ridge and circled to come back directly over them.

Moments later, it landed at the Granite Peak airstrip where another car waited for the pilot and crew.

"So much for the element of surprise," Hannibal breathed.

"You think they saw us?"

"Oh yeah. Depend on it." The Colonel stood and began to pick his way down the incline.

The Sergeant scowled back at Granite Peak and followed the older man. "Just hope Face don't run into trouble when they find him."

"If they believe he's Doctor Horace Pepper, geology professor from Berkeley, he won't. Hopefully our friends in the helicopter won't link us and Face together. But I wouldn't bet on it."


	8. Chapter 8 Professors and Test Subjects

Every Thought Captive

AN: Some old CIA directed projects are named in this chapter. Project Midnight Climax, the Stargate Project with its emphasis on remote viewing, and the practice of interrogating suspected collaborators and dumping their bodies into the sea are all documented. There is no such thing as Project Silent Arrow. It is my creation but it contains elements of other known CIA past projects.

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 8 Professors and Test Subjects

"Oh my, oh my, oh my."

Face let his mouth gape open in mock confusion and panic. The thick lenses of his glasses magnified his widened eyes. Two armed guards leveled their M16s at him.

"Sir, you do know you are trespassing on government property." The taller of the two men said it as more of a fact than a question.

Dropping his pick and shovel and clutching the specimen bag to his chest with both hands, he hoped they were buying his act. "Oh my, no. I was sure this was where I found geode specimens a few years ago. I must have taken the wrong road. Here, let me check."

He opened the top of his field bag and dug through its contents. Both guards took aim as he did.

With the map in his hands, Face let the specimen bag drop to his side from its shoulder strap and raised his arms straight up above his head. "Don't shoot. Don't shoot. All I was getting was my map. See?" He waved the folded map at them but kept his arms where they were.

Neither man relaxed his position. The shorter guard kept his M16 trained on Face's chest while the other guard lifted a walkie-talkie to his mouth. "We picked up a trespasser half a mile off the road, sir. He seems to be a rock collector."

"Geology professor," the conman interjected.

The guard turned cold eyes on him before speaking again. "Do you want us to bring him in for questioning?"

He listened to the response and let his eyes flicker briefly again on the conman. "Will do."

"You'll have to come with us, sir." He motioned with his gun for Face to move ahead of them. The security patrol Jeep was parked on the road leading to Granite Peak.

"Is that really necessary? I mean, it was an honest mistake. What if I took my things and left and promised to be more careful next time?" Face glanced down at the shovel and pick on the ground beside him and back at the soldiers. He wished they would at least allow him to lower his arms.

Instead of answering, the guard with the walkie talkie motioned again with his weapon. His expression went from impassive to menacing.

"Okay, okay." Face used his most accommodating tone as he took the first step toward the vehicle. "But can I bring along my equipment?" He gestured with his head toward the ground only to see the two guards advance toward him, M16s still raised. "No, huh? Okay, I can take a hint."

As his hands were cuffed behind his back and he was helped into the Jeep, he let his gaze stray toward Castle Mountain in the distance. One guard trotted over to retrieve Face's pick and shovel and deposit them in the front seat beside the driver. He took his place in the back with his gun pointed at the conman.

It had been an hour since Face watched the helicopter fly over the Dugway Ridge and return to land at the installation again.

_I sure hope Hannibal's plan involves a little more than having me taken to Granite Peak for questioning. _

He thought about the small electronic device in his pants pocket, the device he was supposed to use to track down the whereabouts of the mini-camera.

_And I hope I'll find out where Murdock and Amy are while I'm there. If one of them still has the camera, it shouldn't be difficult. But what if they don't?_

He didn't want to think about that.

oooooo

Doctor Stafford paused outside the lab door. His hand lightly resting on the doorknob, he considered what he would do with Miss Allen after the flunitazepam took effect. There were a few rooms in this underground installation where he knew he would have the utmost privacy to get better acquainted with her.

_Such a pretty girl. But too many other things are requiring my attention. _

A flurry of activity, salutes from guards and an oppressive tension in the atmosphere drew his attention away from his thoughts. Approaching him from the direction of the entrance to the underground facility was trouble. He knew it when he saw it.

Military types did not understand that work on the kind of surveillance tools and weapons they wanted him to develop took time and patience. Trial and error. The right test subjects.

No. Military types like General Brandler wanted results right away.

_I can pretend I didn't see him and walk the other way but he'll track me down. Or he'll have Jackson ride my tail even more than he is now. Best to look the General in the eye and tell him I need time. _

"Doctor Stafford. I understand you found a volunteer for Project Silent Arrow. I assume you have begun preparing him for his assignment." The General's hard stare made the doctor uncomfortable.

_Volunteer? Oh yeah, we found a volunteer. _

The doctor removed his glasses and wiped them with a clean white handkerchief before responding. Even though Captain Murdock had been one of the more promising subjects in the old Stargate Project, Stafford could not be sure how much of the previous training the pilot had retained.

_Even if he retained the basics of remote viewing, can he be persuaded to use it for Project Silent Arrow? _

"Preparation takes time. There are many facets to the technique we are using that have to be practiced before it can be used in the field. Pushing the subject too fast in this area can lead to permanent mental debilitation." Stafford chose his words carefully. He wasn't sure how much the General already knew. He did not want to give General Brandler too much information about their test subject.

_If Brandler knew that the test subject was hand-picked by Jackson, he might have questions . . . _

The other man carefully appraised the doctor's expression. "The volunteer _was_ taken from a mental institution, wasn't he? That was what we agreed upon."

Doctor Stafford knew the reason behind those instructions. If the test subject went stark raving mad during the preparation or while on the field, the man's mental health history could be blamed. It would look like a natural part of the patient's mental deterioration. He could be returned to the psychiatric ward to live out his days in a straightjacket and under sedation.

_No one would be the wiser and nothing would be gained or lost. _

"Yes, the subject is a mental health patient. He suffers from intermittent memory loss and paranoid delusions but is otherwise perfect for our purposes."

That, at least, was the truth. Because Captain Murdock had been previously trained, many of the steps to becoming a remote viewer would not be difficult for him to remember. Because he had no family there would be no one asking questions if something went wrong.

_Of course, there is Miss Allen. And the members of his old unit might try to cause problems. But how much can they do, being fugitives? They'd be crazy to try to walk into this installation and rescue him. _

"How soon will the test subject be ready for deployment?" Brandler's persistence unsettled Doctor Stafford.

_Thankfully the training time shouldn't take as long as if we had a subject totally new to the technique. But we will have to step up the pace to keep the General happy. And if the General's happy, that means whoever's pushing his buttons higher up will be happy, too. _

"I can make no sure guarantees. If we push too fast we'll lose the test subject and have to look for a new volunteer. That will waste more time than you want, General." Stafford stared back at the military man, hoping his argument would decrease the pressure that was being placed upon him.

He wanted time to add a few more bells and whistles to what Murdock would eventually be able to do as a human surveillance tool. Things which might improve his own standing in the intelligence and scientific communities.

The General broke off their conversation abruptly with a short nod of resigned agreement. "You have until the end of the month when Cazador makes his monthly visit to Gema Escondida."

Doctor Stafford breathed a sigh of relief. _Yes, that should give me enough time. _

"Now if you would tell me where I can find Colonel Jackson, I will leave you to your work."

"I don't know for sure but the last I saw of him, Colonel Jackson was going to talk to our test subject in Room 27. I have to warn you. The test subject was not lucid the last time I spoke with him. You may want to have the Colonel step out into the hallway." The doctor readjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "In fact, I advise it. The subject should not be disturbed any more than he already is."

The General nodded again and set off for the room where Jackson was re-establishing his acquaintance with Captain H. M. Murdock.


	9. Chapter 9 Sky

Every Thought Captive

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 9 Sky

"You _do _remember me, don't you, Captain?"

"Yeah, 'n' I wish I didn'," he muttered. The LSD was still causing tremors and making his jaw clench. He couldn't even be certain the walls weren't pulsating as he watched.

_Worse 'n the stuff they try 'n' give me at the VA. Matter o' fact, can I be sure o' who I'm talkin' to? Is this really Jackson? _

"Remember that whorehouse in San Francisco where I found you? Ever since I pulled you out of Project Midnight Climax, I've kept close track of you. If I had been a little quicker I could have spared you that first bad LSD trip. Remember that? Huh, Captain?"

_What don' I 'member 'bout that? I was only seventeen, new t' San Fran 'n' livin' on the street. Wish I'd never o' visited that place. _

Jackson wasn't finished. "You were on the Agency's radar even before that, actually. We knew about you when you blew every grade curve in your old high school. The best and brightest are never overlooked." Jackson hovered over the restrained pilot and smiled.

"Yeah, well, grades ain' everythin'," the pilot mumbled, turning his head toward the wall.

_Gotta look 'way. Can't be sure his eyes ain' seein' everythin' I'm thinkin'. He's that good at this shit. _

"You were never meant to wind up in that brothel as a test subject for Midnight Climax. And not just flying for Air America either. There were _much_ higher things the Agency wanted you for. Like the Stargate project."

A violent shiver went through Murdock at the mention of Stargate. The memories from that program were responsible for some of his nightmares.

_Henderson had me goin' all sorts o' places in my mind t' get information. _

As if he knew what the pilot was thinking, Jackson added, "Henderson, you and I go way back, don't we?"

Murdock squeezed his eyes shut against the memories Henderson's name invoked. Memories of the motel room in which his CIA handler died, the suddenly reddening cheeks, the blue tinge to his lips, his last spasmodic gasps for breath, his staring eyes . . .

_. . . the knowledge I could o' stopped 'im if I'd jus' been quick 'nough. _

"It was really too bad about Henderson. He didn't have to take the fall for that mission, did he? _You_ were the remote viewer. _You_ deliberately gave wrong information to protect someone."

The pilot's thoughts shifted to Mai Thị Bầu Trời. Bầu Trời was the Vietnamese phrase for 'sky' and Sky was what Murdock liked to call her.

He _had_ been protecting her. Her and her entire family. Her father had been supplying information to American CIA agents stationed in Da Nang for some time before he met her.

She was only seventeen and had already seen two brothers join the ranks of the ARVN and disappear without a trace somewhere in the jungle near the Laotian border.

She found out about his special training during one of their many intimate conversations and asked him to use it to find her brothers. Shortly after he "saw" them in a POW camp in Laos, Henderson had a new assignment for him.

His remote viewing target was the movements of Sky's entire family, including Sky herself, on one particular market day in 1973. He would project himself in time and space to watch them and describe what he heard and saw. They wanted everything: complete conversations, items purchased, items passed from one person to another . . . the Agency had become suspicious of the Mai family for some reason.

He didn't tell them everything. There were some fragments of conversation between Sky's mother and a stall vendor which Murdock did not repeat. It all seemed so intrusive, so wrong.

At the last minute, a controversial mission was aborted. The mission, part of the Phoenix program, would have increased the number of interrogation flights he took in the chopper over the South China Sea. The number of South Vietnamese citizens rounded up, interrogated to death and tossed into the ocean would have increased.

Somehow, the American media caught wind of it. In the public outrage that followed, Henderson felt the heat from above. He invited Murdock to his room to witness his death and to provide him with some advice.

_What were Henderson's last words t' me? _

"_You shouldn't have to be burned along with me. You could always plead insanity, Captain. They can't try someone who isn't competent to stand trial."_

He took that option and let the darkness in his soul, the trauma he kept at bay from his childhood and his war years, consume him and push him over the edge.

He thought it would stop the interrogations of falsely accused innocents. He thought the accusations against the Mai family would be dropped. The Phoenix program was phased out and F-6 replaced it. His insanity had not saved Sky or her family but it had saved him.

_So many wasted years, so many lives destroyed . . . _

Involuntary tears prickled in his eyes as a sudden realization came to him.

"Damn you, Jackson. The Mai family was innocent, weren't they? You sold us _all_ out, didn'tcha? It was _you_, not me," he hissed.

Colonel Jackson let his gaze rest on the two places on Murdock's chest where the skin had been pared away. When he raised his eyes to meet those of the pilot, he was smiling.

"What did you expect? I was your remote viewing trainer when you first came to us. What do they say? 'A student never rises above the level of his teacher.' I planted wrong information here and there for you to find and report. I couldn't be sure you wouldn't eventually begin to remember little pieces of the puzzle and expose me."

"So why d' ya need me if yer so good at it?" Murdock heard a familiar voice protesting from out in the hallway before a door slammed in time, he prevented his mind from summoning up an image of Face.

_Don' know if Jackson's able to see everythin' I think. I can't put Face in danger. _

But Jackson seemed preoccupied with making sure Murdock was securely restrained on the cot. "The government didn't spend all that time and money on training you to have you waste away on a psychiatric unit or engage in activities that would get you killed outside of the line of duty."

"Yeah, well, nice t' know my government values me so much," Murdock muttered.

Jackson's eyes narrowed as he worked at tightening the wrist and ankle restraints. He didn't respond until he was satisfied. "I know you'll be willing to cooperate with us now. Your Miss Allen will be very thankful if you do."

The pilot forced his expression to be impassive but he knew if Jackson could sense his sudden increased heart rate, he would know he struck pay dirt with his choice of words.

"She would be the firs' t' tell me t' tell you t' go t' hell."

"You know your problem?" His cheeks reddening with anger, Jackson grabbed Murdock by the chin and forced him to make eye contact. "You want to know? You're always trying to do what's right and not what's good for your country."

"Who're you t' say anythin' 'bout what's good for yer country?" Murdock spat. He made his hands into fists but he could do nothing else. For several long seconds the two men glared at each other until the pilot turned his head to the wall in frustrated resignation.

_I've gotta do whatever they ask. Got no choice s' long as they got Amy. _

"Doctor Stafford will be responsible for retraining you in the finer aspects of remote viewing. I will sit in as an observer. I'm sure you haven't forgotten how it feels to transcend time and space, have you?" Colonel Jackson paused at the doorway, a smirk on his face. "Don't go away. The doctor and I will be right back to begin your reorientation lessons." His look grew more malicious. "Oh, and thanks for _volunteering_."

oooooo

"I have _never_ been so poorly treated by my own countrymen in my life. I am an American citizen and this is _still_ the United States, _not_ the USSR." Face hoped his indignant protests were enough to convince these soldiers.

Leaving the patrol jeep, the two guards half-dragged the handcuffed conman through a set of double doors and down a hallway.

"Strong silent types, huh?" he blustered as they unlocked the handcuffs and pushed him into a windowless room with three chairs and one long table. They let him keep the specimen bag but locked the door.

Just to keep up the act, he pounded on the door with a clenched fist. "You can't do this to me. Get me my lawyer. I have _rights._"

_If I'm correct, there's a guard posted outside that door and they're in the process of informing the highest ranking officer of my arrival. _

He put his ear to the door but heard absolutely nothing.

"Okay. So now what?" Face said to the walls around him.

_I really shouldn't do that. I'm starting to act like Murdock. _

Watching the door, the Lieutenant removed the tracking locator from his pocket and slowly rotated in position. The small locator indicated the mini-camera and its hidden tracking device was somewhere further down the hallway. But the device was moving away from him.

_If Amy or Murdock have the camera, they're being moved. If I can figure out a way of getting out of this room, maybe I can find one of them and get whoever it is out of here. _

The sound of a set of footsteps at the door made him quickly bury the device in his pants pocket and sit down at the table. As he did, his fingertips brushed the button tracking device on his shirt, sewn on so that Hannibal and B. A. would know where he was in the facility.

He folded his hands in his lap and pasted a frightened tight-lipped smile on his face. Hunching his shoulders slightly and crossing his legs at the ankles with knees apart, he made himself appear as timid and unassuming as he could.

_I just hope whoever questions me does what Hannibal thinks they'll do._


	10. Chapter 10 Questions, Questions

Every Thought Captive

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 10 Questions, Questions

As Jackson left Room 27, a guard stood at attention and saluted. "Colonel Jackson? We intercepted someone who breached the southern perimeter of the Proving Grounds in the Granite Peak sector. Lieutenant Parkins said to bring him in. He thought you would want to conduct the questioning."

Jackson glanced back at the closed door he had just come through and sighed. Captain Murdock's retraining would have to wait.

_But as soon as this is taken care of, it will be a pleasure to reacquaint the Captain with the finer aspects of the Stargate program._

He smiled in anticipation as he allowed the guard to lead him to the room where the intruder waited.

oooooo

Face suspected the person who would be opening the door to the room he was in would be some type of military brass. As the colonel and one of the guards entered the room and shut the door, the Lieutenant took a deep breath.

_Well, here goes. If Hannibal's right, this guy will take my name, listen to my story and go to another room to phone the university and check me out. _

"My name is Colonel Frank M. Jackson. And you are . . . ?" The Colonel extended his right hand to Face and smiled.

The conman clumsily uncrossed his ankles and partially stood, leaning forward to take the offered hand. "Uh . . . Doctor Horace Pepper. I teach geology at Berkeley in California."

After shaking the Colonel's hand, Face perched on the edge of his chair and folded his hands in his lap. He willed his legs to tremble a little as if afraid of the authority this man possessed.

_Just like Doctor Pepper would do if he was who he said he was. _

Colonel Jackson strolled over to one of the chairs and pulled it out. He motioned to the guard to leave the room. "But stay just outside the door in case I need you." As the guard closed the door behind him, Jackson leaned forward with his elbows on the table and clasped his hands together. "Now suppose you tell me how you came to be wandering around a restricted area?"

Face pushed his glasses up on his nose with one finger and cocked his head. " I . . . uh . . . can explain . . . I think. I tried to explain to the two guards but they wouldn't listen. In fact, they were downright rude."

"They're not assigned to their post to listen. They're assigned to intercept and bring trespassers in to be questioned." Jackson narrowed his eyes at the Lieutenant. "Suppose you tell _me_ why you were trespassing on government property?"

"Trespassing? Me? If I had known . . . I've never even _jaywalked_ in my life. Oh, dear. If the head of my department finds out about this . . . oh, dear." Face took out a white handkerchief from his jacket pocket and mopped his forehead with it.

"So am I to believe you had no idea you were trespassing?" The Colonel raised an eyebrow and scrutinized the conman's expression.

"I thought this was the same area I found pink quartz geodes three years ago. I must have gotten turned around." He pulled the specimen bag toward him and turned the contents out on the table. "See, I have two wonderful samples of purple quartz geodes but no pink."

Jackson picked up one of the samples, fingered the rough hewn edges where the hammer had broken it in two and set it carefully back down on the table. "You will find no geodes in this area, Professor Pepper. Your best bet is to go back out to the main road, turn right and look for the signage leading to the Dugway Geode Beds on your right."

"So does that mean I'm free to leave?" Face tried to sound overly eager. He shifted position as if to get up from his seat.

_But if this guy is tight on security procedure, he'll check me out first. That will give me opportunity to try to find Murdock and Amy. _

"Not so fast, Professor." Jackson raised one hand to stop him and stood up. "I will have to call the university and check your story. Does anyone there know you were coming to Utah to hunt for geodes?"

"Well . . ." Face pretended to be deep in thought. Stroking his chin with one hand, he looked up at the Colonel and smiled. "My department head, Doctor Wan Lee. In fact, I can give you his number if you want. Just . . . if you wouldn't mind, could you kind of keep it between you and me that I made this mistake? It might mean my job if he thinks I was doing anything illegal."

"Of course. I understand completely. I will make up an excuse for calling and ask if he knows you." Jackson waited for Face to remove a pen and a piece of paper from a small notebook in his pocket.

After scrawling a phone number on the page, he slipped it to the Colonel and pumped the man's hand up and down enthusiastically. "Gee, thanks for covering for me. I don't want to know what kind of chewing out I'd receive from Professor Lee if he knew I had been in custody for even a short while."

Colonel Jackson wrested his hand away from Face's overly anxious handshake and gave him a cold smile. "Don't worry. I'm sure we'll be able to get you on your way before very long. Just stay here and if your Doctor Lee confirms your identity, I'll have my men escort you to your vehicle and back to the main road."

His hand on the door knob, Jackson glanced back at the conman. "Is there anything else we can do for you, Professor?"

Face gave him a sheepish grin and licked his lips. "Well, if you wouldn't mind having someone get me a little water. I've been out in that sun all morning and I'm afraid I emptied my last water bottle before your men picked me up. I'd sure appreciate it."

Jackson nodded and opened the door. "Corporal Mendez, would you please get the Professor a cup of water?" He gave Face another analytical once-over. "Like I said, if your story matches what your department head says, you should be out of here shortly. Good day to you, Doctor."

The door closed and Face sighed in relief. While the Colonel didn't say anything the Lieutenant wouldn't have expected, there was something about the man that raised warning flags in the conman's mind.

Pushing the thought away for the moment, Face prepared for his next course of action when Corporal Mendez returned with the water.

oooooo

"Colonel Jackson."

He knew automatically who that voice belonged to and he cringed inside. Whoever met General Brandler when he first arrived at the Granite Peak Installation would be reprimanded for not letting him know before now.

"You are a devil of a man to locate when someone wants information." The General returned Jackson's salute and appraised him with suspicious eyes. "I've already been to Room 27 and seen the test subject for Project Silent Arrow. I hope his paranoid delusions about being brought here against his will are not going to delay the project."

"We will have to provide a great deal of training in a very short period of time to meet the deadline you have set for us but we should be able to accomplish it. Doctor Stafford and I were going to start this afternoon. I have a phone call to make and then I was going to meet the doctor in one of our laboratories and begin." Colonel Jackson shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

_And you, sir, are being the biggest obstacle right now to starting Captain Murdock's training._

"The test subject's ranting is just paranoid delusion, isn't it? We do not need to repeat the mistakes of our predecessors in MKULTRA. The public outcry will destroy _someone's_ career if we utilize a psychiatric patient who hasn't given consent and it leaks out." The General crossed his arms and frowned.

_What the hell does Brandler expect? _

Jackson pasted a reassuring smile on his face. "The test subject was given a chemical substance to loosen his mind up for the training, that's all. It somehow . . . enhanced the symptoms of his disorder. He is showing signs of coming out of it. That's why I was delaying our initial training session."

_Hope you buy that. You don't need to know everything. _

Brandler took in and released a deep breath. "And the test subject has flown an airplane before? I don't need to remind you that we have to have a pilot that will do what he is supposed to do at the end of this month. Cazador's plane must not reach Gema Escondida."

"Yes, yes. Doctor Stafford and I are fully aware of the criteria for the test subject and what he must be able to do." Colonel Jackson stopped short of rolling his eyes. His sharp retort was risky enough. "Now, if you don't mind, sir, I must make that phone call and then get to work."

"If _you_ don't mind, I might accompany you when you begin training the subject. It would give me something to be able to report when I get back to Washington." Brandler straightened to full height and glowered at the Colonel.

Jackson opened his mouth to respond and then thought better of it. "Of course, General. But I must warn you ahead of time that the first few sessions will not be indicative of what he will eventually be able to do."

"Fair enough. Where will the testing be done?"

The Colonel motioned for the other guard outside the room where Face was to approach. "Private Nelson, would you escort General Brandler to Test Laboratory Two?"

As the General followed the Private down the corridor to the laboratory, Jackson sighed with frustration.

_I'll just have to remind Captain Murdock that the life of his friend depends upon his total cooperation, including being well-behaved in front of the good General. _


	11. Chapter 11 Corporal Mendez

Every Thought Captive

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 11 Corporal Mendez

Corporal Mendez never knew what hit him.

_Must be fairly new to guard duty. You never come completely into the room when your prisoner seems to have vanished into midair. Especially when there's only one door, no windows and very little to hide behind. _

Face shook his head at the unconscious figure on the floor. "Tsk, tsk. Maybe next time you'll know better," he mumbled with a smug smile.

The conman had been waiting behind the door, the specimen bag in his hands. As soon as the corporal stormed into the room and slammed the door behind him to keep the invisible prisoner from escaping, Face swung the bag as hard as he could against the back of the young man's head. The corporal staggered, then fell, the paper cup splashing its contents across the tile floor.

Face hurried to strip the uniform off the young corporal and put it on. He gazed with disapproval at the saggy waistband of the uniform pants and the voluminous shirt he now wore. Notching the belt to its snuggest around his waist, he sighed.

_Not exactly tailored to my body, but I guess it'll do. Corporal, you need to drop a couple of pounds. _

"Sorry for the lump on the back of your head, friend, but I have to look like I belong here if I'm going to find out where my friends are," he muttered as he used his own web belt to tie the corporal's hands behind his back. Unhooking the strap from the specimen bag, he tied the young man's ankles together.

Gagging the young man with the white handkerchief, he tore the button tracking device from the shirt he had been wearing and removed the tracking locator from the pants pocket. He slipped them into the pants pockets of the uniform before standing and listening at the door.

Carefully he cracked open the door and peeked up and down the hallway before leaving the room. Palming the tracking locator, he gave it a swift glance. The mini-camera was straight ahead several doors away and to his left. It was standing still for the moment.

_I hope that means either Amy or Murdock are there with it. If they aren't, I'll have to begin checking rooms. _

As he began to make his way toward the tracking device, he heard a wailing cry from Room 27 to his left. The mini-camera was not there according to the locator but the voice was unmistakeable and heart-rending in its appeal.

"Please! Ya gotta b'lieve me! Is anybody listenin' t' me? Don' let 'im do anythin' t' me. _I'm not s'posed t' be here._"

_Murdock? God, buddy, is that you? _

His hand rested on the doorknob and he was about to turn it when he heard footsteps in the hallway. He jerked his hand away as a long-haired young scientist type in a lab coat hurried up to him.

"Doctor Stafford needs assistance in Laboratory One, Corporal. If you would follow me . . . "

As Stafford's aide turned back to where he had come from, Face gave the door a sorrowful glance.

_Hang in there, buddy. I'm here but I can't let anyone know it just yet. I'll be back to get you. Count on it. _

oooooo

Doctor Stafford dismissed Rollag, his lab assistant, sending him on an errand to find a guard. He wanted help to drive the reporter into the Dugway foothills, far enough that she would not easily find her way out.

Alone with Amy in the laboratory, the doctor cupped her lovely face in his hand and stroked her cheek with a thumb.

His job required him to live in almost total isolation from any social activity. He missed the life he used to live before the CIA and Army determined his value to their programs and had him transferred to Granite Peak.

_She is pretty. It's a pity what I have to do. _

He wondered if he should give her another dose of flunitrazepam to ensure she would not wake up while being transported.

Just as he was contemplating that, Rollag returned with a guard.

oooooo

Face sneaked a look at the tracking device as he followed the lab assistant down the hall toward Laboratory One. The mini-camera was located in the room to which he was being led and for a moment he felt relief.

_I think I've just found Amy. If I can stay out of sight of that Colonel, maybe I'll figure a way of getting her out of here._

For a moment he thought of Murdock and the frantic plea he heard from Room 27. He shuddered at what that tone and those words implied. He felt a twinge of guilt for putting Amy's safety above that of his best friend.

_But Murdock's military. He knows the score just like the rest of us. Amy's . . . not military. And she should never have been sent to Tannini's office and put in danger like that. Damn Hannibal anyway for giving in to her demand. _

Whatever the scientists and military men at Granite Peak wanted from Murdock, it would be obtained against his will. Face was certain of that and felt the stab of conscience again.

_No telling what they'll do to him. He sounded terrified. Like they've already begun to work on him. _

Shaking his head to clear away the thought, he allowed the assistant to open the door to the laboratory. Hannibal and B. A. were waiting for him to bring back any badges they might need to get into the facility as well as information about where Amy and Murdock were and what their condition seemed to be.

_There's no time for mistakes. _

He entered the room ahead of the assistant and heard the door close behind him. His stomach wrenched as his gaze fell on Amy, unconscious and strapped down to a gurney. He blinked once and then composed himself when he heard the gray-haired scientist address him.

_No time for mistakes, _he thought as he did as the man directed.

oooooo

Straightening and turning, Doctor Stafford let his gaze flicker over the young blonde corporal who stood before him waiting for orders.

"Colonel Jackson wishes for me to escort this young lady off the property. I want you to drive me." He peered at the young soldier's name badge. "Corporal Mendez."

_Mendez? Blonde hair, blue eyes and a Hispanic name. Odd. I'd love to figure out the genetics on that one. _

The blonde blinked once at the unconscious woman and saluted Stafford. "Yes, sir." He moved toward the head of the gurney and waited for the doctor to precede him to the door.

Doctor Stafford slipped something from his white coat to a pants pocket, then removed his lab coat and tossed it over a chair. "After you, Corporal," he murmured as he held the door open for the soldier and the gurney.

_Such a pity what I have to do. _

oooooo

"Yes, Frank Jackson here. Am I speaking to Professor Wan Lee?" Jackson scowled at the door of the office. He hoped Stafford would not bring Murdock to Laboratory Two before he had a chance to have some words with him.

_If Murdock keeps saying he hasn't volunteered for Silent Arrow, the General will get suspicious. Hell, he already is. He catches wind that the Captain won't cooperate, I might be out of an opportunity to rid myself of Murdock and his testimony forever. Dealing with my superiors is sometimes too much like pissing on a bonfire to try to keep it under control. _

"No, I'm trying to contact a Professor Wan Lee. He's the geology department head. Listen, who is this?" Jackson pulled the receiver away from his ear and stared at it before listening to the broken English of the Oriental-sounding man on the other end.

The receiver crackled with static.

"He's in Chinatown visiting relatives? Well, when do you expect him to return? . . . Not until tomorrow morning?"

_Damn! _

"Look, maybe you can help me. You're the graduate assistant assigned to the department? Well, then you would know a Professor Horace Pepper? . . . Yeah, that's right. I wanted to talk to Doctor Lee about him. My daughter says the professor told her she wouldn't pass his course because of a paper she never handed in? She claims she _did_ turn it in . . . Oh, the Professor has _you_ reading and grading those papers?"

_Figures. These university types seem to always have a graduate student assigned to do their work for them. Chances are the graduate student'll be frantic, trying to figure out where the 'missing paper' is. _

"So is Professor Pepper there? . . . Gone out of town on a geology specimen-hunting trip? And he's due back . . . when? . . . I guess maybe I'll talk to him about it when he returns, see if my daughter can do any other extra credit work to pass his class. Yes, you've been very helpful . . . thank you. Good bye."

He pressed the receiver firmly down in the cradle and stared at it for a few minutes.

_Professor Pepper seems to check out and I really can't hold him on a nagging suspicion. But maybe I can hold off on releasing him until after I make sure General Brandler's on his way back to Washington. _

Jackson wearily got to his feet and moved to the door. "Time to remind Captain Murdock that he must give the General a good show today . . . or else."

_By the time he realizes his reporter friend is no longer with us, he'll be ready for his mission to eliminate Cazador. By then there'll be no going back for him. _

oooooo

"Think he bought it, Hannibal?" The black Sergeant pulled off onto a side road on the right closer to the southern boundary of the Proving Grounds. Face's rental car was parked two roads away. Too many vehicles clustered in one location would call attention to them.

Hannibal chuckled. "All of a sudden you don't trust my acting abilities?"

"Why'd ya say you were the assistant and not Lee hisself?"

"Relax, B. A. I gave the man a story he can believe. And he was guaranteed not to ask a lot of questions if all he had on the line was some foreign-born grad student sweating a good grade and the department head's recommendation for his Master's degree." The Colonel frowned at the tracking screen. "And it looks like our mini-camera is on the move again. It's making its way out of the Granite Peak installation. That has to be Face. Let's just hope he found both Murdock and Amy."

B. A. grunted and turned worried eyes toward the peak that loomed in the distance. "An' if he didn't?"

"Let's cross that bridge when we come to it. Until we hear otherwise, we'll assume Murdock and Amy are safe somewhere in the facility." Hannibal got out a cigar and took some time lighting it. When he finished, a concerned thoughtful look was on his face.

B. A. knew better than to question him any further about the plan and the consequences of its failure. He turned to watch the roadway leading out of the Proving Grounds, hoping to soon see a plume of dust from the vehicle Face would be using to bring information to them.


	12. Chapter 12 Escape for One

Every Thought Captive

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 12 Escape For One

As Face and Doctor Stafford left Laboratory One, the door to Laboratory Two down the hall closed. Private Nelson breathed a sigh of relief and walked down the hallway toward them.

The scientist scowled. "General Brandler must not have left yet. He must assume we're ready to let him see what kind of work we're doing on our test subject," he muttered, barely loud enough for Face to hear.

Stafford hobbled past the gurney to take the lead and hurry their pace. He wanted to get as far away from the General as possible for now. He would speak to Colonel Jackson about this before the first session. In no way, shape or form were they ready to entertain brass like General Brandler with demonstrations of the project's usefulness to the military.

Murdock's terror-filled protests grew louder as they approached Room 27 with Amy and the gurney. A series of thumps from the room indicated the captive was struggling with as much strength as he had against whatever restraints were being used on him.

Amy stirred slightly at the sound of Murdock's voice and whimpered softly.

"I'm here 'gainst my will. I ain' s'posed t' be here. Please! Somebody listen t' me! Oh God, _please_ . . . "

Face swallowed back his impulse to break into the room and free his friend. The plea dissolved into something the Lieutenant hadn't heard since their time in Major Trình's POW camp. Murdock howled with an animalistic fury that made Face's skin prickle with goosebumps.

With a small leering smile and a shrug back at the man rolling the gurney through the hall, Doctor Stafford jerked his head toward the room they were passing. "A bad LSD trip. He doesn't know what he's saying. A real nutcase straight from the psych ward." The doctor chuckled as Face glanced toward the door briefly.

He misunderstood the look in the conman's eyes. "Oh, he's restrained and no danger to himself or anyone else. We'll make sure he gets something to settle him down before we work with him."

Face maintained a frozen impassive expression even though everything in him wanted to reassure his friend of his presence . . . and throttle this inhumane termite that so casually gave a psychedelic drug to someone like Murdock.

_LSD? What the hell are these monsters going to do to him? And what will the LSD do when combined with his other meds? I have a bad feeling about this whole thing. _

And then they were past the room and its occupant and his unintelligible screams and nearing the double doors and the outside.

Face couldn't help but feel a little more comfortable being out of the facility and in the fresh air. The secrets Granite Peak held were obviously clandestine and smelled strongly of possible CIA involvement. His friend was caught squarely in the middle of whatever covert activity they were planning.

_But how did Murdock happen to get on the radar of these people and why did they choose him and not someone else? He seems to know what's going to be done to him and who's going to do it. What was it I heard Murdock yell? "Don't let him do anything to me?"_

"Help me get her into the jeep, Corporal." Stafford was wasting no time. He seemed eager to get done with this part of his job and return to the installation.

_He must be the doctor that's going to do whatever they want done with Murdock. Well, at least if Stafford's with me, my buddy won't be experimented on like some kind of lab animal. _

Stafford already had the straps unbuckled and was waiting for the corporal to lift the young lady into the back seat of the jeep.

Face carefully cradled Amy's limp body to himself and made the transfer, then walked over and got into the driver's seat.

As the conman turned over the ignition, he hoped Hannibal and B. A. were waiting in the location they said they would be.

Hannibal would have some serious questions for this mad scientist regarding their friend and pilot. Face didn't know if any of them would be able to stomach the answers.

oooooo

"Wait a minute, Corporal. I told you to turn to the left back there. Where are we going?" Doctor Stafford glared across at the blonde driver.

"You'll see." The corporal's jaw was twitching with anger. "Just sit back and enjoy the ride, sir."

They traveled in silence for a few minutes more before the driver turned off to the left and parked facing a black van with a red stripe detail around its body.

A white-haired man left the front passenger's side and stood, solemnly regarding them. He crossed his arms, a cigar clenched in the side of his mouth. Doctor Stafford shrank back in the seat as a very muscular black man in denim overalls emerged from the driver's side and glowered at him.

"We're here. Get out." The jeep driver parked the vehicle and quickly left it to attend to the reporter in the backseat.

"Amy?" The Corporal stroked the young woman's cheek and took her hand in his. "Time to wake up now." It was obvious to the doctor that this man not only knew the reporter but had something more than a friendly relationship with her. The reporter murmured something softly but didn't open her eyes.

He gave the doctor a withering look and demanded through gritted teeth, "What'd you do to her?"

"Check her for any injury, Face. That was someone's blood back in that stairway."

The white-haired man seemed to be the one giving the orders. He stayed where he was, feet planted shoulder width apart, and gave the gray-haired scientist a piercing appraisal. Walking up to him, he patted him down for weapons and retrieved the mini-camera from the pants pocket. "And there's our evidence and tracking device. Who are you and what do you know about that incident back in L. A.?"

"My name is Doctor Soren Stafford. I was following orders. Surely you must understand that. We were told to track down Captain Murdock and make sure he accompanied us back here." The doctor leaned against the jeep, keeping weight off his bad leg.

"Did kidnapping Murdock include giving Amy a concussion?" Face glared up at the scientist and then let his gaze flicker over to Hannibal. "She's got a pretty good gash and lump on the back of her head where they hit her. Might be where the blood came from."

"Has she been unconscious all this time?" Hannibal squinted at Stafford. "Or did you give her something in addition to a bad headache?"

"She'll wake up soon. I gave her flunitrazepam. It's a sedative. It won't hurt her. She was lucid the last time she was awake." He decided to keep to himself the fact that the drug not approved for use in the United States was also good for creating amnesia during the time the person was under its effects.

"Like the LSD you gave Captain Murdock won't hurt him?" Face erupted, leaving his position with Amy in the jeep and taking three long menacing steps toward the doctor. He balled his hands into fists, his muscles tight with rage.

"Lieutenant, stand down." Both B. A. and Hannibal moved toward Face to restrain him.

"You didn't hear Murdock's voice back there from behind that closed door. Remember how he was that last day in the POW camp? Remember how he sounded? They pumped him with LSD and I don't know _what _his mental state is now." Face pulled away from both men in disgust and returned to attend to Amy. He got in the backseat with her to hold her in his arms.

Hannibal's expression was grim as he looked Stafford in the eyes. "What about it, Doc?"

Stafford shifted uneasily on his feet. It was true. He hadn't had access to all of Murdock's records. He only knew Jackson wanted him and only him for Silent Arrow. For all he knew, the pilot would not emerge unscathed from his brush with LSD. There was no way of knowing for sure.

"It's just a bad trip. He'll be fine when it wears off." He couldn't let them know his own uncertainty.

From the deepening scowl on the white-haired man's face, he wasn't buying it either. He growled out his next questions. "Why Murdock? What are they planning to do to him?"

The doctor smirked at the Colonel. "I don't know everything but what I do know requires a high security clearance. It's on a need-to-know basis."

B. A. growled and gripped Stafford by the collar of his shirt. Drawing his clenched hand up to eye level, he snarled, "My fist says our security clearance's high 'nough an' my fist in your face says we pass the need-ta-know test. Got that, sucker? Now spill it or yer gonna eat my five good reasons to talk."

The doctor gulped.

"You have to admit, he has a good point, Doc. And unless you want me to give him the go-ahead, you'll tell us what you know." The Colonel's eyes bored into Stafford until he flinched.

Swallowing again, he nodded as much as he could with the Sergeant's massive hand constricting his throat. Hannibal nodded to B. A. to release the man's shirt and let him breathe.

"It's Colonel Frank Jackson," Stafford gasped, clutching at his reddening throat where the collar had pinched his air off. "He's my immediate supervisor in the project. He specially chose your pilot to be a test subject for it. Back in the mid to late 60s your man had some intensive training that makes retraining him easier. He also matches the requirements."

"Requirements. What requirements?" Hannibal interrupted.

"The test subject was supposed to be a pilot and come from a psychiatric ward. He had to be someone who had no family or friends who would ask questions if he suddenly became worse or disappeared. Captain Murdock fit those requirements. Colonel Jackson felt the Captain was perfect for the project. The LSD was to loosen him up, make him more compliant for the first session." Stafford glanced at B. A. and flinched when the big man cracked the knuckles on one hand.

"Colonel, I don't know what the project is that they have Murdock in but the whole thing feels like CIA to me." Face shot an accusatory look at the doctor.

"Agreed, Lieutenant. Is Murdock injured?" Hannibal directed the question to both Face and Stafford.

"I didn't get to see him, Colonel. I told you what I heard. He was terrified. It sounded as bad as one of the interrogations in the camp." Face glanced down at Amy as she stirred without opening her eyes and huddled against him. His arms instinctively tightened around her, his hand stroking back her hair from her forehead.

Stafford shifted his position and stared down at the ground. "Your man has some bruises."

"What else?" B. A. growled, cracking the knuckles on his other hand.

"Look, if I say anything more, I'll be divulging top secret information. Captain Murdock is being prepared for a mission for the federal government. I can't say any more. Now, I have to get back to the installation. With or without me, your man will still undergo . . . preparation. Jackson knows enough about the training to be able to do key aspects of it himself. But he won't be as careful about what he does. And . . . " The doctor looked from one man to the other helplessly."I got the idea he might have something against your guy from their past work together." The doctor's tone turned into a plea for release.

"Okay, Doc." The Colonel's steely blue eyes silenced Stafford. "We'll return you to your work but not without an escort. We need to make sure you don't do something you'll regret doing to our pilot. And know this: we don't give a rat's ass about any project the government thinks is more valuable than our friend's life."

Turning to B. A., Hannibal motioned toward the jeep. "Sergeant, if you would make Amy comfortable in the back of the van and stay with her, Face and I will accompany the doctor back to Granite Peak. Make sure she wakes up periodically and answers some questions. We don't know how bad that head injury is."

"But Hannibal!" Face whined.

Hannibal smiled. "Yes, Corporal Mendez? You know that I'm too old to be a corporal and B. A. will pop the buttons on that uniform."

The Sergeant growled at the Colonel as he carried Amy from the backseat of the jeep and gently laid her on the back floor of the van.

The grin left Hannibal's face when he glanced at the doctor. "Once we get back there, the Lieutenant and you will get me into the facility as a lab assistant. We'll both be there when you begin your work with Captain Murdock. And you'll help us get him out of there before any more is done that will injure or destroy him." Gripping Stafford's wrist in his gloved hand, he snarled into his face, "Is that understood, _doctor_?" The last word was said with such venom that there was no mistaking what Hannibal thought of the credentials of the man standing before him. Stafford nodded numbly and got into the passenger's seat.

Climbing into the back of the jeep, the Colonel lifted a piece of heavy canvas in the back and positioned himself under it.

Peering out at Face as he checked one last time on Amy, Hannibal clutched his Smith and Wesson to his chest and gestured to the driver's seat. "Let's go, Lieutenant. Now."


	13. Chapter 13 Return to Happy Valley

Every Thought Captive

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 13 Return to Happy Valley

When Jackson neared Room 27, he frowned. The wailing and sobbing he heard coming from behind the door sounded more like that of a totally insane person than the pilot he knew from their days during the CIA's Project Phoenix.

_If Stafford gave the Captain more LSD, the remote viewing session will have to be delayed even longer. Brandler won't sit still for that. Damn these scientists! _

Private Nelson had stationed himself outside the room according to orders after escorting the General to Laboratory Two.

"Stand outside this door and do _not_ let anyone enter. I need to speak to the test subject before we can bring him to the laboratory." An especially loud and piercing shriek made the Private peek fearfully at the door out of the corner of his eye. Noting his reaction, Jackson nodded. "Just listen for my orders. If Doctor Stafford passes by here, tell him we may need to administer a low dose sedative before the testing starts."

_And if Stafford doesn't get that message, too bad for Captain Murdock. He'll have to do it without anything to relax him. _

"Yes sir." Private Nelson saluted. Colonel Jackson entered and closed the door quickly behind him.

Narrowing his eyes at the restrained Captain, Jackson scowled.

Murdock had somehow managed to scrape enough skin away from around his ankles and wrists for a sizable amount of blood to seep onto the sheet under him. It left quite a mess. A small amount of froth bubbled at the corners of the pilot's mouth. His chest still heaved up and down with the passion of his outburst but when he saw Jackson, Murdock quieted his verbal protests.

"Now, Captain Murdock. Injuring yourself will leave a bad impression on General Brandler. He'll think you don't want to help your country."

"Where's . . . my . . . friend?" the pilot hissed. His eyes, wide and dark with menace, warily watched the Colonel.

"I told you before. Safe. For now. And you can make it continue to be that way if you behave yourself in front of the General."

Even as he said the words, Jackson knew those brown eyes boring into him searched for the lie on his face.

_I'll have to be very careful what I think around the Captain. He's beginning to remember how to focus his psychic abilities. I trained him too well. _

"We'll have to clean you up a bit before you'll be presentable for General Brandler. Where should we go for our first remote viewing session, Number 47?" Jackson's glittering eyes took on a hint of malicious amusement. "I know. What about Happy Valley? I know you have memories that will help you with that one. And we want to leave the General with the idea this project is showing promise, don't we?"

Murdock squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth. His body began to tremble involuntarily.

Chuckling at the reaction he received, Colonel Jackson paused at the door. "Then Happy Valley it is. I won't tell you specifically where. That's for you to figure out. I'll send someone in to get you ready."

oooooo

_Happy Valley. Oh God, it's been ages since I thought o' that. Only in my nightmares. _

When he was certain Jackson left the room, Murdock opened his eyes. He tried to bend his right wrist enough to inch his long slender fingers toward the knot tying the leather restraining cuff to the frame of the gurney.

_He can't make me go back there. I can't go back there. I can't. I won't._

His fingertips grazed the knot. He cursed as he tried again to reach it. Panic rose inside him and constricted his chest, making his breaths come in short panted huffs. His palms were sweating. His fingers twitched with the lingering after-effects of the LSD.

Happy Valley. If ever there was a time he needed a cloak of invisibility to hide his movements that was it. Rocket bursts in the dark sky. Elephant grass that grew to a height above his head, easy to see any path of escape the occupants of a downed chopper would take.

_'N' I did crash that chopper, didn' I? Jigged when I should o' jagged. Couldn' do much else 'cept crash when my tail rotor was shot t' hell. Jus' glad none o' the guys were hurt by my stupid move. _

Major Trình. The camp. Luke Cassel, Bruce Wilson, Chuck Heller . . . the forced march . . . Ferret, the sadistic head interrogator, lifeblood spurting from him in a dark red fountain from knife wounds Murdock himself had inflicted . . .

_I can't relive that all over 'gain. _

And he saw by the expression on Jackson's face he knew all of that. It would be used to make him submit.

_That 'n' the threat t' hurt 'r kill Amy. How many more things from my past's Jackson gonna use 'gainst me? What's next? One o' Pa's beatin's? The last breaths Ma took in the hospital? _

Looking down at the two open bleeding wounds on his chest, he wondered how Jackson managed to make his hallucinations real enough to do what they did.

_Or did Jackson do that t' mess with my mind? That has t' be it. Couldn' be what I thought I saw. Could it? _

Voices from his past, his father's voice, Billy's voice, argued back and forth in his mind over that question until he wanted to scream "Shut up!" at them.

A lab assistant entered the room with a basin and a wash cloth and sploshed water onto the floor with a startled jerk. It was then Murdock realized that he owned the hoarse voice shouting "Shut up!" over and over again.

oooooo

General Brandler returned Jackson's nod as the Colonel entered the monitor's room from the laboratory.

"So when is this demonstration going to begin, Jackson?"

The Colonel bit the inside of his cheek to prevent a sharp retort.

_Today's not a red letter day for me. _

Having to figure out what to do with a reporter who was picked up along with Captain Murdock. Phoning to confirm the identity of an absent-minded professor trespassing where he didn't belong. Putting up with Brandler and his damn impatience. An uncooperative test subject.

_And now Stafford has disappeared. But at least I'm going to have the satisfaction of regaining control over Murdock after all these years. _

He gave the General a tight-lipped smile. "Doctor Stafford had a small emergency to take care of so I will be conducting the first session with the aid of the doctor's assistant, Mister Rollag. He should be bringing the test subject in soon. In the meantime, let me explain some of what we will be doing today in this session."

Brandler narrowed his eyes. "Go ahead."

"What you see before you is our Extended Remote Viewing lab. What we hope to do is to send the subject's mind through time and space to a specific place in the past. He will answer questions about that place as he 'sees' it. He will also sketch what he encounters and take notes on the experience." Jackson paused.

"But he never leaves the lab, right? This is the old Stargate program revisited." The General snorted. "If all he's going to do is revisit historical events . . . "

Jackson breathed slowly through his nose to prevent himself from losing his temper. "As I was going to say, our test subject will have his temperature, respiration, brain waves and pulse monitored throughout the session. Our entire session will be recorded on video and cassette tape. Once we have determined he has become comfortable with what he is to do, we will train him in how to find moving targets . . . "

"Like Cazador?"

"Like Cazador _and_ the munitions he's smuggling to our friends of the revolution in Gema Escondida. He should be able to provide us with detailed information before first steps are taken in any future mission. It will cut down on casualties if we can do that. We will also be working on his psychic abilities to predict the outcomes of missions our people are sent to complete. But _first_ we must train him in the rudiments of time and spatial travel by using past events." The Colonel saw Brandler's eyebrows knit together as he thought of the future applications of remote viewing.

The door to the laboratory opened and Rollag wheeled a gurney into the room and toward the chair. The assistant had done his job well. White gauze hid the chafed and bleeding wounds on the pilot's bare chest, ankles and wrists. Murdock wore a pair of long black cotton pants with a drawstring waist. A pair of black rubber shower sandals were on his feet. The Colonel smiled.

_If that doesn't remind him of the target time period, I don't know what will. We usually don't let them know what the target is, but for purposes of persuading him to cooperate . . . _

Jackson caught his breath for a moment as Rollag untied the restraints and transferred him to the chair. He expected to hear and see more of the pilot's protests. Murdock was too stubborn and rebellious to give up easily. He slowly exhaled when he saw that the restrained man seemed to have accepted what he was being forced to do.

Murdock sought out the monitoring room with his eyes. He pierced the Colonel with a smoldering glare. It was a look of pure hatred, one that threatened violence if given the opportunity.

_We'll see about that, Captain Murdock. _

"If you would please hook 47 up to the machines, Rollag. Make sure he has plenty of paper and two or three pens in front of him." To the General, Jackson added, "We don't use names, if you remember from the old Stargate Project. The test subject will be referred to as 47 when we address him."

Brandler nodded. "Proceed."

Rollag attached electrodes to Murdock's scalp. Hooking up the wires to the electrocardiogram patches on the pilot's chest, calves, and arms, he slipped a thermistor onto a finger to measure body temperature. Electrodes in the palms and on the backs of his hands sent data to Jackson about the degree to which the subject was perspiring. Rollag wrapped a band around the pilot's abdomen to measure his respiration.

"And now for some special music to get him in the mood," Jackson breathed as the assistant settled a pair of headphones over Murdock's ears. He dimmed the lights until they could see only the slight luminescence of the white gauze and monitoring devices on the test subject.

The reaction was immediate. The pilot grimaced and closed his eyes, letting his head rest against the back of the chair.

"Are you ready, 47?" Jackson murmured into a microphone.

Murdock swallowed and nodded.

"Good. Let your right arm rest lightly on the table and take the pen in your hand. Relax. Let your mind relax. Breathe evenly and let your brain totally relax." Jackson watched as the man in the chair sank deeper and deeper past the beta brain wave state into the theta waves. He was mildly surprised Murdock moved into the altered state of awareness so quickly.

_Has he been using this training to complete missions for his team? Or maybe to try to make the quacks at the VA think he's insane? If he's been practicing, he's even more dangerous to me. Well, let's see how he does with this scene. _

"Your coordinates are 15-55-00-107-58-00, I repeat, 15-55-00-107-58-00. Write them down."

_That should put you right where I want you so you know who's in charge. _

General Brandler fidgeted in his seat as the seconds stretched on and there was no communication from the test subject.

Just when Jackson sensed the General was ready to say something, Murdock's hand began to jot something down on the paper in front of him.

The Colonel used the joystick in front of him to zoom one of the cameras in on what the pilot had sketched.

"So what in hell's that supposed to be?" the General whispered.

Jackson smiled. He had a very good idea what the ideogram symbolized and it meant Murdock had the correct target. Inwardly he cheered but outwardly he decided to play dumb.

"I'm not sure. Let me ask him."


	14. Chapter 14 Descent Into Fear

Every Thought Captive

AN: According to one of my sources, JP-4 was the type of fuel used in Hueys (UH-1H Iroquois helicopters) during the Vietnam War.

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 14 Descent Into Fear

From the bored expression on the lab assistant's face, Murdock figured he knew very little about what went on in a remote viewing session.

_Prob'ly don' care 's long 's he's got a steady income 'n' chance o' promotion someday. _

He had to thank the man for being gentle in cleaning and bandaging the two chest wounds and his wrists and ankles.

_Jackson wouldn'ta cared. All he wants's a trick pony for the brass. _

At least that was all he thought Jackson wanted.

_Or is Jackson 'fraid o' what I know 'n' how I can use it 'gainst 'im? Been a while since I tried t' read what someone was thinkin' but I guess I better keep tryin' t' read Jackson. _

The last thing the lab assistant did before rolling the gurney out of the door was to slip him into a pair of black trousers reminiscent of those he wore in the POW camp and stick a pair of black rubber sandals on his feet.

Murdock fought the memories of the last time he wore such an outfit.

_Happy Valley. The prison camp. Oh God, please, not the prison camp._

As they neared the door to the laboratory, the pilot sensed Jackson waiting somewhere inside. His kind of malice made the atmosphere of the Extended Remote Viewing room weigh thick with evil intention.

The assistant loosed him from the gurney and directed him toward what Murdock recognized from his past training as a remote viewing chair.

He could not resist a hateful glare toward the monitoring room. The General who had ignored his loud protests scrutinized Murdock as he took his seat. If he had the opportunity, he would give the smug Colonel Jackson a beating he would not soon forget. It would probably land him in an asylum for mentally insane violent criminals . . .

_. . . but it'd be worth ev'ry blow I got in. _

He heard Jackson's response in his own mind: _We'll see about that, Captain Murdock. _

Murdock had momentarily forgotten that Jackson was better than he at this psychic stuff.

_Gotta be more careful 'round him. _

He heard the Colonel give the lab technician the orders to hook him up to the machines which would monitor his vital signs during the session.

_Referrin' t' me as a number 'n' not a name, not a person. Some bit o' humor Jackson has, givin' me the number 47. Last two digits o' my birth year. _

The feeling of the electrodes on his scalp made him grimace. In his mind, electrodes were associated with electroshock therapy. Always would be. The rest of the monitoring equipment didn't affect him near as much as the EEG patches.

In the camp, those wires meant an excruciatingly painful jolt in some part of the body followed by either prickly tingling, tremors or numbing.

The CIA had utilized the same interrogation method in the days of the Phoenix program. Those in charge of questioning suspected sympathizers jokingly called it "the Bell telephone hour" because of the hand-cranked electric generator that delivered the electrical charge to the victim.

Murdock winced. If they only knew how that type of torture felt, he wondered if they would have so willingly and sometimes gleefully used it as often as they did.

It wasn't much different at the VA hospital, except they always first gave a mild sedative. They always attached the electrodes to the scalp and never to his . . .

_. . . no! If I think that, Jackson'll use it 'gainst me. _

He was too busy suppressing the image of the electroshock torture he endured in the camp that he didn't notice the assistant slide headphones over his ears. The drum and guitar strummed introduction opened up to Barry McGuire singing his popular anti-war protest song.

_The eastern world,  
It is explodin'.  
Violence flarin',  
Bullets loadin'.  
You're old enough to kill,  
But not for votin'.  
You don't believe in war,  
But what's that gun you're totin'?  
And even the Jordan River's  
Got bodies floatin',_

_But ya tell me  
Over and over and over again, my friend,  
Ah, you don't believe  
We're on the eve of destruction . . ._

Oh, he remembered that one alright. He first heard it in late 1965 just before he trained to be a chopper pilot and was sent overseas.

_'N' Jackson picked it on purpose t' force me t' think 'bout Nam. I'm not s'posed t' know what my target is 'fore I do the session. He's showin' me who's boss. _

He closed his eyes and hoped his clenched teeth were not noticeable from the monitoring booth. The lyrics hurt. They squeezed the part of his mind that remembered things when he slept that he blocked from his thoughts when he was awake, or at least most of the time when he was awake.

Ugly memories had a way of sneaking up on you and knifing you when you least expected it.

Gracie Slick was singing about white rabbits now. His recurring dream about an ensnared screaming white rabbit in the jungle bit into his soul. Sometimes he dreamed he was the trapped animal.

When he opened his eyes he noted that the Colonel had taken the opportunity to dim the lights. Darkened rooms were even worse than the songs he remembered from Nam that Jackson was piping through the headphones.

A room filled with shadows reminded him of the interrogation hut where he was sometimes left for hours in the ropes. Other times he was staked out spreadeagled and naked on the dirt floor, a guard at each of the four corners of the room. You never knew which one was going to rush forward and bring the rubber fan belt whip down upon your broken and bruised skin. They counted on that. After a half hour or more, they became like flitting shadows that caused a moment of pain, then scurried back out of sight.

And then Jackson asked if he was ready in that soft voice of his. It was meant to con the General into believing all of this was just a training session. Cold, impersonal, impartial.

But Murdock knew what the Colonel was up to. He knew.

_Nothin' I can do but go 'long for the ride. _

He swallowed and nodded, placing his right arm on the table as directed. He knew the procedure. Pen in hand, he began the slow and rhythmic breathing that would relax him into the brain wave pattern essential for remote viewing.

_Las' time I used this, I was separated from the guys in a warehouse that was 'bout t' be torn down 'round us. Got all o' us outta there safe by 'seeing' where they were 'n' where we needed t' go. But Jackson don' need t' know I've been usin' what I learned. _

And now the Colonel was transferring the coordinates to him and telling him to write them down. He immediately recognized them.

_Happy Valley. 'Proximately where I ditched the bird. Where the VC captured us. _

He couldn't refuse at this point to go there. His phantom body rose up from the chair and floated in separation from his physical body for a few brief seconds. Then he was in the ether, falling through the tunnel of bright light and snapshot images toward his destination.

Seconds passed after he wrote the numbers down. Suddenly, Murdock's features pinched with anxiety. The pilot scribbled a jagged horizontal zig-zag line across the paper.

"Flat with lotsa tiny peaks. Fluid. Movin' back 'n' forth." He wrote what he said on the right side of the paper after the letter 'A' and then the words 'fear' and 'danger.'

"What are you seeing, 47?"

"Grass," the pilot muttered. "Tall grass. 'Bove my head. Can' see nothin' but grass in front o' me. It's rustlin' b'hind me."

He wrote a 'B' under the 'A' and the words 'grass, tall, sharp' and 'knife.'

"What else?"

"Air's hot, sticky. A little breeze."

"Use your senses. Tell me what you hear and smell."

"I smell JP-4 . . . 'n' smoke . . . there's so much 'round me I can hardly see . . . "

Murdock coughed. Tears formed at the corners of his eyes. "Gettin' a li'l hard t' breathe."

"Do you see flames?"

"No . . . no flames."

"Any other sounds?"

"Voices. Someone's cryin'. Someone's groanin'. I hear 'em yell 'medic.'"

"Slowly rotate in your position. Do you see anything else?"

"The grass's been bent down 'head o' me. I see someone movin' 'way from me. Grass fills in b'hind 'em."

"Man or woman?"

"Man."

"Do you see him now?"

"No. He's gone. The grass's hidin' 'im from me. Havin' a real hard time breathin' now. Smoke's gettin' pretty thick."

"Rise up from there until you can look down. About fifty feet."

Seconds later Murdock took in several gulps of air. "I'm 'bove the grass now. Easier t' breathe."

"Now sketch what you see."

The assistant whisked away the top page to reveal a clean sheet. The pilot hesitated for a moment.

He sketched seven stick figures in a vertical row. On either side of the line of figures, he scribbled lines half the size of each stick figure curving away from the figures.

"What did you draw, 47?"

"I see a line o' men movin' through the grass. They're carryin' guns, rifles."

"Anything else?"

Murdock paused. At the bottom of the paper, he drew an oval with two long thin rectangles jutting out from near one end of it. He sketched two more stick figures beside the oval. He wrote the word 'blood.'

"They're leavin' two guys b'hind, layin' on the ground."

"I want you to focus on the two men lying on the ground. Can you see them?"

Murdock's breaths became more rapid. "They ain' movin'. One o' them's got blood all over 'is head. Other one's bleedin' from 'is chest. Lotta blood."

"Do you see anything else around them?"

The pilot's voice wavered. "It's a metal 'n' glass thing. Bigger 'n me. Smoke's comin' outta it. One o' its pieces is sheared off, layin' in the grass."

"I want you to examine it. Tell me what you see."

"Broken glass. Metal's olive green. Wait. There's three pieces to it layin' in different places."

He wrote the words 'fan,' 'rotate,' 'broken' and 'crash.'

"Go toward it and down closer so you can see it better."

"There's somethin' dark, somethin' evil, movin' t'ward me. It scares me."

"Ignore it. Move away from it and toward the object."

"I see a big open door in its side. There's a smaller door hangin' open."

"I want you to go to the door that's hanging open. Look inside."

"I . . . can't."

"Don't be afraid of it. Go to the door and look inside."

Murdock felt himself drift toward the door. He was a phantom on the scene with no arms or legs to propel him and yet he could move wherever he needed to be by thinking about it.

"Okay. I'm at the door."

"What do you see?"

The assistant exposed a new unmarked sheet of paper. Seconds later Murdock wrote the words 'glass,' 'dead,' and 'crash.' He drew a picture of two 'L' shapes side by side with a curved line like half of a bubble almost encircling them.

"Two chairs. Levers, buttons, lots o' broken glass. Blood. Smoke."

"What's your overall feeling of the target?"

Murdock felt a lump in his throat. "Death 'n' fear."

"Alright. You can come on back now."

Returning through the bright light tunnel, he felt sweat bead on his forehead, chest and arms. It seemed like every muscle in his body was twitching and he couldn't will them to be still.

As he emerged from the tunnel and rejoined his physical body, his heart thundered in his chest. A deep intense pain in the center of his forehead above his eyebrows made him take in a sharp breath. He tried to look toward the monitoring room but couldn't get his eyes to track. His whole body felt like something had sucked all of the energy from it.

_Forgot what one o' these longer sessions does t' me. 'N' this's jus' the beginnin'. _

Other after-effects would come. The worst would be the hallucinations, the sharply focused random pictures that would pop into his mind at any time for no reason. He would lose his ability to concentrate for longer periods of time.

_Hope I'm not flyin' when all that happens. Hope no one's flyin' with me either. _

"Mister Rollag, you can take 47 to the dowsing room to write up his summary of the remote viewing session. After he is finished, you may take him to room 14 to rest before his next session."

The assistant already had removed many of the patches and other monitoring devices from Murdock's body.

_Next session? Ain' s'posed t' do more 'n one o' these a day. Takes too much outta ya. _

As the lab assistant helped Murdock into a wheelchair, he overheard the Colonel add, "I assure you, General. We will have number 47 ready for the project by the end of the week."

He felt rather than saw Jackson's gaze on him as Rollag wheeled him from the room. The Colonel sent one last telepathic message to Murdock's mind.

_I'll see you soon, Captain. Just remember. I pick the remote targets. You won't want to be where I send you if you don't cooperate fully._


	15. Chapter 15 Threats

Every Thought Captive

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 15 Threats

B. A. glanced at Amy, concern etched on his face, and hesitated before placing a large hand on her shoulder. Ever since Hannibal left with Face and the doctor, the reporter had lain unconscious and perfectly still on the floor in the back of the van.

"Hey, li'l sis. Time ta wake up."

The Colonel told him to continue to periodically try to wake her to ensure she did not have a serious concussion.

It wasn't something B. A. enjoyed doing when it was Face or Murdock requiring medical observation. Having to do the same for Amy . . . it was uncomfortable. It made the fury seething inside him even more difficult to contain.

_Any fool that'd deck a woman, hurt her so bad she bleeds, takes my li'l brother an' uses him for their experiments . . . they better hope I don' ever find out for sure who they are. An' that doctor an' Jackson guy better watch their backs, they do anythin' to Murdock. _

But waking Amy was necessary. And there was no one readily available to punish with his fists anyway.

He leaned over her and shook her by the shoulder, painfully aware of his own strength and her fragility.

"Come on, Amy. Wake up for a few minutes."

_An' what'll I do if she don't? _

Just when he thought he would have to shake her harder, her eyelids slowly opened and she moaned.

"B. A.?"

"I gotta have ya stay awake for a few minutes, answer some questions." The Sergeant drew his hand back and carefully looked into Amy's eyes to see if either pupil was dilated.

Relieved when he found they were normal, he threw out his hands to steady her as she attempted to pull herself up into a sitting position. Dangling her legs out of the van's side door, she straightened her back and winced.

"Where am I? Where's the mini-camera . . . our evidence against Tannini? Where's Murdock?" Her questions poured out, her eyes searching him for answers. Moments later she frowned and clutched the sides of her head with both hands. "Ahh. Hurts."

"We got the mini-camera with the photos you an' the fool took. It's in the glove compartment." He scrutinized her pain-filled expression and decided to skirt her other two questions until he could assess her condition.

"I feel like someone beat my head in with a baseball bat." She flinched as the burly Sergeant checked the gash.

"Prob'ly 'cause someone came close to it, li'l sis. I gotta make sure what shape yer head's in. Okay?"

_Hope she ain' gonna ask too many questions 'bout Murdock . . . or Face. She ain' gonna like the answers. _

"I feel sick." Leaning her head back against the side of the rear passenger seat, she closed her eyes again.

"Now don't go back ta sleep on me. Can ya tell me who ya work for?" B. A. squatted in front of her and cupped the side of her face in one of his hands to get her attention.

She opened her eyes again and frowned at him. "The Los Angeles Courier Express."

"That's right." B. A. smiled his encouragement. "When's yer birthday?"

"The fifth of May. I was born in 1958." She let her gaze wander past him to the scrub brush and desert mountain terrain. "Where _are_ we?"

"Not yet." The Sergeant uncapped a bottle of water and handed it to her. "Get some water in ya."

_Just tryin' ta keep her from knowin' too much too fast. Knowin' her she ain' gonna play this game too long before she gets the truth outta me. An' when she does, she's gonna want ta be part of the action. _

She sighed and obeyed. After two swallows, she handed it back. "Now tell me what you're trying so hard not to tell me."

B. A. avoided her response as best he could. "Why don't ya tell me what you remember 'bout the mission."

"Okay, if I share that, then you tell me what I want to know. Deal?" She looked directly into his eyes.

B. A. let out a huge sigh, then shrugged.

_I don't hafta tell her everything. _

"Okay."

"Murdock and I had just about finished in Tannini's office when Face warned us about the guys coming up to check things out. The elevator stopped on the floor where we were so Murdock grabbed me and took off for the stairs. He made me start down ahead of him. He was going to stop Tannini's goons if they came after us."

Her eyes filled with tears that she brushed away with an angry hand.

"I didn't want to leave him but he insisted. The last I saw he had his gun drawn. He gave me the camera and one of those grins that was supposed to tell me everything would work out."

B. A. scowled down at the ground.

_That's Murdock alright. He'd let 'em make hamburger outta him if it'd keep Amy safe. An' do it with that goofy grin on his face, too. _

She gulped as she remembered his expression, then continued. "There were four men with ski masks waiting for me two floors down. Two of them held me and one of them must have slugged me." She touched the back of her head where her hair was matted with blood and shivered.

B. A. squelched the sudden desire to put his fist through the door of his van.

"You remember anythin' else? Anythin' about Murdock an' whether he was alright?" The Sergeant took Amy by the elbows and gazed into her eyes.

_Fool can usually take care of himself in a one on one but four against one? Those weren' good odds. He wouldn't a went with 'em if Amy hadn't been there. An' that doctor. Said the fool was a test subject. That could mean just 'bout anythin'. An' none of it good. _

"My memory's pretty sketchy between the time those men grabbed me and now. I remember seeing Murdock." She thought and then took in a sharp breath. "He was tied down to a chair with IV tubes in both of his arms. He couldn't see me because of the blindfold." Grabbing B. A.'s forearm, she hissed, "He's in trouble, isn't he. And Hannibal and Face aren't here because they've gone to free him. Am I right?"

B. A. swallowed. He remembered Face's mention of Murdock's frantic cries for help and the LSD that was given to the pilot.

At that moment, the blips from the two button tracking devices which Face and Hannibal had in their pants pockets stopped moving.

Amy followed the Sergeant's gaze to the double screens. Turning back to him, she narrowed her eyes. "It's your turn now. What's going on and where are we? And where's Face, Hannibal and Murdock?"

oooooo

General Brandler insisted upon waiting until 47 collated his remote viewing session into a definitive sketch of the target. Jackson was hoping the session itself would be enough but he should have known his superior would want more.

_That shouldn't take Captain Murdock very long. He's familiar with the target already. _

Jackson and Brandler strolled along the hall toward the dowsing room where Rollag had taken Murdock in the wheelchair.

"This was the first remote viewing session with this particular test subject. You saw how detailed his vision was of the target area and what was going on. Now think what kind of detailed information he'd be able to give you of locations of key players if there was another Iranian hostage crisis, for instance?" The Colonel glanced at the man beside him, noted the General's eyebrows raise slightly.

_General Brandler, don't ever play poker. You'd lose every time. _

"Explain," Brandler ordered.

"This remote session looked back in time but when Stargate was scrapped we were beginning to lay the groundwork to be able to see the present. Picture it. You have hostages and captors in an embassy overseas. The hostage takers shuffle the captives to different buildings around the city. They figure if there's a rescue attempt on one building, hostages elsewhere can be used as examples. You can't get anyone anywhere near the city without putting some or all of the hostages in greater danger. You have to have intelligence but how do you get it?"

"The remote viewer?"

"The remote viewer," Jackson affirmed. "With his ability to transcend space and time, he can search out the hostages and assist any rescue efforts by 'seeing' precisely where they and their captors are. He can tell you what kind of weapons the captors have, what hostages are with them, the condition of the hostages. A rescue could be made with pinpoint accuracy with almost no casualties because of his information."

He could see the General mulling over the potential for that kind of surveillance.

"But first, we'll try it out with our little Gema Escondida gun supplier. Number 47 will track Cazador's movements without even leaving the remote viewing chair. He'll see where the weapons are being store-housed and with what kind of security. Any phone calls Cazador makes, any papers he signs, any people he meets, our man will see and report without being there and arousing suspicion. He will then sign on as the pilot for this month's gun run. The United States government will have their weapons back and Cazador will no longer be supplying our revolutionary friends. In fact, he'll no longer be doing much of anything."

The General put his hand up to stop Jackson's flow of words. "I told you before. I want only to know that Cazador will no longer be a thorn in Uncle Sam's side. I don't want to know how he's stopped. The media can never know we slipped weapons to someone like Cazador to supply the rebels for this revolution. Why the Attorney General gave his approval to the initial plan is beyond me."

The two men stopped outside the door to the dowsing room. Knocking and entering without waiting for a response, Jackson noted Murdock's strained expression as he finished his compilation description and sketch of the test target.

"Number 47, can you walk us through the remote viewing you did and tell the General what your sketch and notes are?" The Colonel gave the pilot an unsettling look and relayed a message to him through his mind.

_Just remember who's in charge here. Give the General a good report and maybe the next target won't be so . . . disturbing . . . to you. _

Murdock straightened in the wheelchair and gripped the arm rests so firmly his knuckles whitened. The glare he returned brought a smirk to Jackson's face. The pilot couldn't respond because he had not been trained to do that but the Colonel could feel waves of hatred being directed his way.

Murdock took in a steadying breath before beginning. He pointed to parts of his final sketch as he spoke. "I was in a valley that had grass up over the top o' my head. I saw grass like that in Nam. The way the air felt, felt like Nam."

_You're doing good. The General seems to be very interested. But if you let on that you knew the test target location before the session, I promise to make your remaining time with us highly unpleasant. _

Murdock's hand trembled as he received Jackson's message. He swallowed hard and refocused his gaze on the sketch in his hands.

"Had the sense of a crash o' some sort 'n' seven men still 'live. The smoke, the smell o' leakin' fuel, reminded me of a chopper crash." The pilot swallowed again.

_And you know what those are like, don't you, Captain? In fact, this one was your fault, wasn't it? It was your fault you and the others got captured and ended up in that POW camp. _

Jackson narrowed his eyes at Murdock. He could see the man's spirit crumbling even now as he was both reminded and accused.

"Go on, 47."

"The guys had guns so I figure they were soldiers. They were walkin' 'way, tryin' t' escape. Felt a lotta fear and danger 'round 'em. Like there was enemies they couldn' see 'n' they were tryin' t' stay outta sight. Two o' the men in the crash were dyin', couldn' be moved. One had a head injury. Th' other had a huge hole in his belly."

_Lazzard and Collins. Your peter pilot and your crew chief. _

Murdock was barely keeping his emotions together and Jackson knew it. Best to wrap this up before he fell completely apart. No matter what anyone else believed, the Colonel knew the pilot's mental state was sometimes very unstable. His test subject needed to complete the upcoming mission. There would be time for Murdock to have a complete nervous breakdown later. If he survived the mission.

"The chopper went down 'cause the tail rotor was hit. One o' the main rotor blades sheared off when the bird hit the ground. That was the three pieces I saw. Blood 'n' broken glass from the windshield all over the cockpit. One o' the pilots was hurt bad. I sensed death 'n' fear all 'round the crash site. I'm guessin' it was a place held by the VC 'n' they were comin' for the men in the crash. 'N' those guys knew it."

The General was smiling. Jackson swallowed back his sigh of relief.

As he took out the manila envelope containing the aerial photo, the Colonel couldn't help but have a smug grin on his face. "Very good, 47. You've just described the scene of a chopper crash in Happy Valley outside of Da Nang in 1969. And this is what it looked like a few days afterward."

He showed General Brandler first and then Murdock. The pilot paled at the sight.

_Hold it in or the next session will be worse. _

"Unless the General has any additional questions, you may take 47 to his room, Mister Rollag." Jackson noted with unease the heaving breaths Murdock was taking. The man was close to a full blown psychotic episode.

"No. No questions." Brandler patted Murdock on the shoulder. "Good work, son."

Rollag propped the door open and backed the wheelchair out of the room. The last sight Jackson had of the pilot was a study of extreme emotional pain. Murdock had covered his face with both hands, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

Brandler was speaking. "I am satisfied, Colonel Jackson. I'll be relaying your progress and recommending continued support for Silent Arrow." The two men shook hands before the General left for the waiting helicopter.

Jackson's smile faded as soon as the other man left. He turned toward the room where Professor Pepper was still waiting to be released.

_Brandler doesn't need to know that, like a used styrofoam cup, our test subject will be expendable once the mission is complete. But there's more test subjects where Murdock came from. We can find more remote viewers. And Murdock will be silenced forever. _


	16. Chapter 16 Security Breach

Every Thought Captive

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 16 Security Breach

Face drove the jeep past the sentry check just outside the underground installation and breathed a sigh of relief.

"You're doing good so far, Doctor Stafford," Hannibal told him in a hoarse whisper.

"Do I have much choice? I saw the gun you tucked in your waistband. I have no doubt that if I alerted the guard you would make sure it was the last thing I did." The doctor's bitter tone and folded arms showed his reluctance to play escort to the two men.

"Then you don't know us very well. We want to get Murdock out of here but we don't kill people indiscriminately. Not even the ones who use our friends for their experiments." Face matched Stafford's harsh words with some of his own and gave him a sharp glare.

"But we can make their existence unpleasant," the Colonel added.

As soon as the Lieutenant parked the jeep, Hannibal came out from under the canvas tarp in the back. "Now, Doctor, if you would be so kind as to direct us to the room where our friend is, we'll take him and leave."

Stafford swallowed and led the way through the double doors. Stopping off in a general supply area, he grabbed a white lab coat and tossed it to Hannibal.

"Here, put this on. You'll blend in better," he muttered. Anxiously looking down the corridor, the doctor fidgeted as the Colonel slipped his arms into the garment and adjusted it over his shoulders.

"Okay. Take us to him." Hannibal made sure his handgun was concealed and they proceeded down the hallway.

Going directly to Room 27, Stafford knocked before opening the door. For a second, he stared blankly at the unoccupied bed and the rumpled blood-stained sheets. Standing just inside the doorway, he numbly watched as first Hannibal and then Face pushed their way past him. The door shut behind them and too late Stafford realized what must have happened to Murdock.

_Shit! This is not going to be good. _

oooooo

Colonel Jackson frowned as he neared the room where Professor Horace Pepper waited for official word on his release.

_I'll nail Mendez's hide to the wall for deserting his post. _

The Colonel rapped a quick staccato on the door before opening it. With one sweeping look, he took in the bound and gagged Mendez groggily stirring to consciousness, the Professor's discarded clothing and specimen bag and the otherwise vacant room.

Stepping back into the hallway, he ran to the nearest office and picked up the phone on the desk.

"Lieutenant Parkins. We have a security breach."

oooooo

"He's gone," the doctor stammered and ran a hand through his short gray hair.

The Colonel turned toward him, his blue eyes transforming to steel gray. He focused on the blood-smeared bed sheet and then on Stafford. "A few bruises?"

Stunned, Doctor Stafford's mouth gaped open as he shook his head. "I didn't do that."

_And I didn't. But will these two men believe me? _

Face closed the distance between himself and the scientist in three quick paces. Grabbing him by the fabric of his shirt, he pressed him up against the wall. His eyes were only inches from the doctor's face. "Where's my friend, Doc?"

"Jackson must have started the session without me."

_Damn Jackson and his impatience! I should have known he'd do this. If he damaged the test subject . . . _

Hannibal and Face glanced at each other before the Lieutenant tightened his grip on the man in front of him. "And where do these _sessions _take place?" he rasped, his eyes fierce with panic and animosity.

"Let him go, Lieutenant. I'm sure he's ready to be fully cooperative." Hannibal's jaw muscles twitched as he leveled his gaze on the man Face released in disgust. "Aren't you."

_What choice do I have? But they aren't going to like what they find if Jackson monitored the session. _

With trembling hands, Stafford smoothed down his shirt front and took a deep breath. Releasing it, he turned to the doorway. In a choked voice, he muttered, "Follow me. The Remote Viewing lab isn't very far."

He opened the door to chaos.

oooooo

Lieutenant Parkins barked out orders as he sent his men to their posts.

"Private Nelson, you and Private Florey go to Room 14. I want one of you inside the room and one of you by the door. You are to keep everyone except Doctor Stafford, Colonel Jackson and Mister Rollag out of there." He pierced the two Privates with a cold stare. "The man inside that room must be protected from all other outside contact. Colonel Jackson's orders."

After sending two soldiers to guard the double-doored entrance to the facility, he gestured for the three other soldiers to follow him down the hallway. "We will begin securing offices, rooms and laboratories. We are looking for someone who is passing himself off as Corporal Mendez so be on your toes."

oooooo

"We have to help them, B. A. Granite Peak is a _military_ installation. Face and Hannibal are walking into a one-way ticket to the stockade." Amy placed her hands on her hips and frowned at the black Sergeant. She could tell he wanted to spring into action as well as she did but he was hesitant. His dark eyes flashed over her as he shook his head.

"If Hannibal and Face get Murdock an' hightail it outta there, we gotta be ready ta move. Can't do that if we're runnin' in there, gettin' ourselves detained." He squinted toward the distant mountain. "Ya gotta learn ta trust Hannibal. When he's on the jazz, nothin' can stop 'im."

She snorted her exasperation. "And how many times has one of his plans gone according to plan?"

B. A. growled an unintelligible answer. Seconds later, he brought the field glasses to his eyes. "Somethin's goin' on, li'l sis. It don't look good."

Three jeeps left the area of Granite Mountain, driving toward the outer perimeter. Each jeep turned on roads intersecting with the main road in a security sweep of the area.

"What are we going to do?" Amy gripped B. A.'s arm and watched the three armed patrol vehicles raise dust behind them.

"We're gonna wait an' see what happens next. You an' me gotta be ready ta deploy when the time's right." When Amy began to protest, he muttered, "An' that time's not now so relax an' keep your eyes open."

Even so, he turned an uneasy gaze toward the facility that was suddenly swarming with activity.

oooooo

Face removed the name badge from the uniform and tucked it in his pants pocket.

"Guess they figured out where the real Corporal Mendez is, Hannibal." He shrugged and drew his handgun, listening at the closed door.

Stafford noticed a glint come to the Colonel's eyes. Hannibal positioned his handgun in the pocket of his lab coat and pointed it toward him. "I would say we had better get to that lab, get Murdock and leave PDQ, wouldn't you, Doc? And with as little attention drawn to ourselves as possible."

_These men honestly still believe they're going to be able to walk out of here with their friend? We'll see about that. I didn't travel all the way to Los Angeles to let my test subject escape so easily. There's a lot more work I want to do on him. _

Face opened the door a crack, then all the way. The scientist lifted his chin in irritation and narrowly avoided running into two soldiers scurrying past. With Hannibal a foot behind him and Face right beside him, Stafford limped along the hallway toward Laboratory Two.

A soldier stood outside a room several doors away from the dowsing room.

_So that's where the Captain has been taken. _

Stafford glanced at Face out of the corner of his eye. If the Lieutenant had noticed the same thing, he did not show it.

_The longer I can delay these two from finding him, the more possibility that they'll be discovered for who they are. _

He paused outside the door to Laboratory Two. "I'm not sure he'll still be here. Colonel Jackson may have already monitored the first session."

He saw Hannibal's gaze flicker to the soldier standing guard down the hall before returning to him.

_I've got to keep them away from that room._

"Stafford! Where have you been?"

He was never so relieved to hear the familiar voice coming toward him from down the hallway. Looking in that direction, he saw Jackson with two soldiers accompanying him striding toward them.

"I have to answer him," he mumbled to Hannibal.

"Then do it but be careful what you say." The white-haired Colonel nodded to Face and sent him down the hall toward Room 14 and the other guard.

"Colonel Jackson." Doctor Stafford stiffened and gave the man a smile. "I'm here now. Are we ready for the first session?"

He could see the Colonel's eyes settle on the man beside him. "A new assistant, Doctor?"

_What can I do to get the Colonel's attention? I know. _

"With a project as important as Vision Quest, I guess Uncle Sam felt I needed more help." He noted the frown on the man's face and narrowly avoided smirking. "Should I make sure the subject gets more mescaline prior to the next session?"

Jackson's eyes shifted to Hannibal and back again. Then he directed his focus to the second new guard standing at the door down the hall. When he looked at Stafford again, his gaze reflected understanding.

_Thank God. _

"No, I believe the last dose you gave him was adequate. Perhaps you and I should go see the test subject, Doctor. He may require a sedative. If your assistant would prepare the monitoring room for the next session." Jackson nodded a dismissal at Hannibal and drew the doctor away by the elbow.

Under his breath, he muttered to the two soldiers accompanying them, "The assistant is an imposter. Take him as soon as he enters the lab."

Jackson let his hand wander to his sidearm as he walked toward the room where his test subject was kept.

oooooo

Murdock huddled in a corner of the room, arms around knees drawn up to his chest. It was a position familiar to him whenever his psychoses threatened to permanently cripple him.

His mind was blurred with images that emerged from the darkness, taunted him for a brief moment and then retreated again. The memories were like the VC shadow soldiers that would dart from their hiding places to inflict pain and then disappear again.

He couldn't control the shudders that continued to plague him. Closing his eyes, he allowed his head to rest upon his knees. That only served to make the mental snapshots clearer and more brutal so he opened them again. Raising his head, he stared straight ahead at nothing which was somewhat better than the disturbing somethings in his mind.

He began to rock back and forth slowly as the images lingered for longer periods of time. Humming something had always helped him focus before but his ability to concentrate had been undermined with the remote viewing session. He couldn't think of a single song to sing.

A young soldier entered the room and stood immediately in front of the door. Murdock couldn't tell if the Private had been sent to keep him from leaving or prevent someone else from entering.

The soldier cast uneasy glances at him.

_He thinks I'm insane. Maybe I am. _

The mental images merged with reality. Ferret, one of the head interrogators in the camp, smiled into his face. He could almost feel the man's hand clutch the hair at the back of his head and pull it back until his throat was exposed and his breathing was constricted.

He whined, a low pained sound that became louder as he "saw" the knife come closer. Then the image disappeared and he sucked in a breath to prepare himself for the next.


	17. Chapter 17 Stafford's Triumph

Every Thought Captive

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 17 Stafford's Triumph

"If you'll excuse me, gentlemen." Doctor Stafford nodded toward Face and Hannibal. "Colonel Jackson, I should go and make sure Captain Murdock is ready for the next session." Impatiently, he stuffed his hands in the pockets of his lab coat and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He noted with a small degree of nervousness the venomous look the younger man gave him.

_I couldn't allow them to take my test subject away from me. Just wish Jackson would let me go on about my business. I have something I need to do with our friend the Captain and I have to have enough time to do it. Hopefully about four hours._

The Colonel and his Lieutenant sat with their hands cuffed behind their backs in a room furnished with a table and three chairs. The piercing scrutiny Smith gave him made the scientist uncomfortable. He stared down at the floor rather than to make eye contact.

"You do know who you helped us capture, don't you, Stafford?" Colonel Jackson cast a smug look at the two prisoners before turning his gaze on the doctor.

"Friends of the test subject," he answered and shrugged. Jackson's derisive chuckle made his temper flare for a moment.

_Damn cocky bastard. Why should I care as long as they didn't succeed in helping our man escape? _

"Have you heard about the three fugitives who escaped Fort Bragg back in '72, the ones the military have wanted to get their hands on for close to eleven years now?"

"I don't keep up on the news in your department, Colonel Jackson." Stafford anxiously glanced at the door.

"Well, we've just captured two of those three men. This is Colonel John 'Hannibal' Smith and Lieutenant Templeton 'Face' Peck. The Captain was their pilot in Nam."

Doctor Stafford saw the twinkle return to the eye of the white-haired man but Smith said nothing as he gave his Lieutenant a smirk of amusement. The scientist noticed the other man return a dismayed look.

_That Colonel isn't worried at all about any of this. It's almost like he thinks he's Houdini and the handcuffs are only part of his vanishing act. _

"I've already made a call and alerted the proper authorities. A Colonel Lynch is due to arrive in a few hours to take them into custody."

The smile on the face of the captive Colonel broadened to a mischievous grin. "So nice of you to make the arrangements for us to meet with our good friend Francis. I enjoy watching him pick the gravel out of his teeth when we escape."

The handcuffed man beside him nervously cleared his throat.

Jackson ignored the comment. "That means I may have to have you proceed without me. I'm not letting these two out of my sight until Lynch shows up."

Stafford rejoiced inside. That would give him the time he needed for the special thing he wanted to do to Murdock to make him more valuable as a weapon and surveillance tool.

"I have a very special set of coordinates I want you to use in the next session." The Colonel took a notepad and pen from one pocket and jotted down a group of numbers.

Taking the offered piece of paper, Stafford nodded. "I have a few things to do before that next session but I should be able to start it later today."

"Good. I plan to do two sessions a day until Captain Murdock is ready. You're dismissed, Doctor."

The scientist hurried from the room. Jackson just presented him with a window of opportunity. He intended to make sure he used the time wisely.

_If I can find Mister Rollag and have him prepare Laboratory One, we can proceed._

oooooo

With Rollag sent to the lab, Stafford approached Room 14 with an almost euphoric anticipation.

"I may need your assistance with the test subject, Private Nelson." He placed one hand in his pocket and felt for the vial of ketamine. When his fingers closed around it, he smiled.

_Too delicate of an operation to use anything but ketamine. And if we want to have him ready for a later session this evening, we can't knock him out too much. _

Nelson opened the door and ushered the doctor in.

Murdock sat on the floor, his arms clutching his knees to his chest, rocking back and forth and staring in front of him at the wall. For all purposes, the man seemed to be mired in a flashback so horrible he could do nothing but curl himself into a tight ball to protect himself.

Stafford clenched his teeth and cursed Jackson again under his breath.

_I should never have left the facility. I hope he hasn't damaged the test subject. _

He approached the Captain and squatted beside him, reaching to place a hand on his shoulder. Murdock's eyes didn't even track the movement.

"Captain Murdock" was all he got out before the man on the floor reacted to the touch. With a terrified howl, Murdock swung his elbow toward the doctor's head and connected.

Stafford fell to the floor, his glasses flying from his face into the corner. He grasped at his nose and swore. "Son of a bitch!"

The pilot released his knees and sprang to his feet. Inching his way backwards to the wall, he lowered himself into a defensive crouch.

Privates Nelson and Florey leveled their weapons at Murdock.

His back to the corner, the pilot scanned both soldiers and the doctor with an animalistic fear. His muscles quivered with unpredictable alarm at the sight of the armed men.

Stafford wiped the blood from his nose with one white sleeve as he reached for his glasses. "That one was my fault. Don't shoot. He doesn't know what he's doing right now."

_All I'll need is for one of these young pups to get trigger-happy. _

Small whimpers escaped from Murdock. He seemed to be waiting for their next move.

"Captain Murdock, you're safe. No one is going to hurt you," the doctor murmured as he edged slowly toward the terrified man.

_Take your time. Don't scare him. _

With a vehement scream, Murdock leapt to his feet and bolted toward the door.

"Grab him! Don't let him go!" Stafford removed the syringe and vial from his pockets and prepared the dose.

With quick and brutal efficiency, Florey and Nelson grabbed the pilot and pinned his arms behind his back, slamming him face first into the wall beside the door. While Murdock snarled at them and savagely struggled to free himself, the doctor approached.

"Hold him still!" he snapped at the two guards.

Stafford jabbed the hypodermic into Murdock's bicep and depressed the plunger, then backed away as quickly as he could.

The captive continued his frantic kicking and howling for almost two minutes, slowly losing the use of his muscles and voice.

At the three minute mark, Murdock was physically incapable of moving or speaking at all. Pushing him onto a gurney, the two soldiers held him while the doctor tightened restraints around his wrists, ankles, thighs and chest.

When he was finished, Stafford bent to look into Murdock's wide open barely blinking eyes. Satisfied the ketamine was both providing pain relief and paralyzing the patient's muscles, he straightened and held open the door.

"To Laboratory One, gentlemen."

oooooo

The sudden muffled scream and subsequent howling from down the hall brought Face to his feet. In desperation, he tried to launch himself over the table at Colonel Jackson, disregarding the rifle the corporal standing at the door abruptly pointed at him.

"Lieutenant! Take your seat." Hannibal's sharp orders were accompanied by an icy glare at their captor. Face did as he was instructed under protest.

"What the hell are you doing to him?" the Lieutenant shouted.

"That's my question, too, Colonel." Hannibal continued to coldly appraise the man's expression across from him.

He noticed the shadow of surprised unease Jackson himself had upon hearing the sound. Just as quickly he regained the sneer he had been sporting ever since he sat down in the chair opposite the two prisoners.

"Doctor Stafford has been known to utilize unorthodox methods of ensuring a test subject remains compliant. Don't worry. We need your friend alive and able to pilot a plane." Jackson said, a grim smile on his face.

_But after that, he is expendable. No need for these two friends of his to know that, though. _

Looking at their sober expressions, Jackson was fairly certain they already suspected as much. And that could mean trouble if they managed to escape.

oooooo

Stafford led the way into Laboratory One. Once Murdock was lying on his back on the soft padding of the operating table, Rollag fastened the table's restraints around his wrists, lower legs, waist and upper abdomen. Stafford turned the pilot's head so that the right side of his face rested on the padded surface of the table.

The lab assistant shaved a small section of hair from Murdock's scalp an inch above the top of his ear.

"We have only about forty minutes to complete this surgery before the muscular paralysis and analgesic effects of the drug begin to wear off." The doctor checked the bit on the cranial perforator drill while Rollag cleaned the area he had shaved and and applied betadine surgical scrub to the skin.

"Ready?" Stafford asked his assistant. Rollag nodded. With a small smirk, the scientist dipped his head to look the pilot in the eyes and repeated, "Ready?"

He didn't wait for an answer. There would be none because of the ketamine. The brown eyes stared vacantly at nothing. Chuckling and straightening again, he accepted the scalpel from Rollag and began the procedure.

Making a neat 'X' incision, Stafford gestured with his head for his assistant to wet down the area with a saline solution and use suction. Together, they installed tiny Raney clips to the incised scalp layers to stop the bleeding.

With a periosteal elevator, Rollag peeled back the scalp tissue and placed retractors to hold the galea, the fibrous tissue nearest the skull, away from the bone.

Stafford worked carefully with the drill to create the half-inch diameter burr hole he needed. Rollag provided constant irrigation of the area to prevent the drill from overheating.

"I'll know when I'm just about through the skull. Can't put too much pressure on this or I'll rupture the dura and cause damage to the auditory cortex itself." Seconds later he breathed in and exhaled slowly as he lifted the bone flap from the drilled hole, exposing the brain. Rollag took the small bit of bone and put it aside to be inserted over the hole when the procedure was finished.

With a cheery tone, Stafford said to the pilot, "There you are. All I have to do is place this neuroelectromagnetic implant, replace the bone flap and stitch you up and you'll be as good as new." Peering over at the quarter-inch long device and nodding to himself, Stafford added, "In fact, you'll be better than new. I guarantee it."

oooooo

Colonel Francis Lynch tapped out a quick staccato on his leg with the fingers of his right hand as the military police vehicle sped along I-15 toward the Bicycle Lake Army Airfield near Barstow. He hoped his request for a helicopter or at least a small plane and two MPs would be granted by the time he got there.

_Am I the only one who believes Smith and his two men still need to pay for the Bank of Hanoi job? _

He sighed as he recalled the conversation he had with his immediate superior.

"_This has become a personal vendetta, hasn't it, Lynch? I'll put in the request but I'm not sure this trip will be regarded as sufficiently high priority to warrant putting you on an Army plane or chopper to escort these two back here. I'm sure the MPs you requested will be granted, but it will be a harder sell for the aircraft." _

Captain Stewart glanced over at the Colonel as he fidgeted in his seat. "We should be to the airfield within the hour."

Lynch nodded and stared out at the passing desert scenery, his mind focused on the last sight he had of Smith, the blue eyes taunting him to try to capture and arrest him.

_And arrest you I will. If we have to drive all the way to Granite Peak and all the way back with no stops, I will. Count on it, Smith. _


	18. Chapter 18 Denied

Every Thought Captive

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 18 Denied

"What do you mean, the request was denied?" Colonel Lynch's face grew ruddy with frustration as he exploded at the man behind the desk.

The quartermaster at the Bicycle Lake Army airfield leveled a pair of bored green eyes at the indignant officer. Looking down at a sheet of paper in front of him, he scanned it once more before handing it to Lynch. "Read it for yourself, sir."

The Colonel skimmed the DD Form 1155 before letting out a heavy sigh. "Do I at least get two MPs to accompany me to Granite Peak?"

The desk sergeant shrugged. "You can have two MPs. You just can't have a bird to get there."

Muttering to himself, Lynch dropped the sheet back onto the desk and strode to the door.

"Have a pleasant drive, sir," the quartermaster dispassionately added before addressing more important documents on the desk in front of him.

The Colonel growled and allowed the door to slam behind him.

oooooo

A knock diverted Jackson's attention from the smirking Colonel and his Lieutenant. "Enter."

The sergeant who opened the door quickly approached Jackson and bent to whisper in his ear.

"Damn!" The Colonel frowned and dismissed the messenger with a wave. His gaze settled on his two prisoners. "Sergeant Emerson informs me that your Colonel Lynch will not arrive for another nine hours. Evidently, you aren't on the high priority list."

Smith smiled and murmured, "Well, it wasn't for a lack of effort on our part."

"Hannibal!" Face squirmed in his chair, shooting an anxious look at his CO. Hannibal's grin widened in response.

Colonel Jackson stood and walked to the door. "I can't afford to stay with you for all that time. Your Captain Murdock's preparation for his mission can't wait that long."

He cast one more analytical look at the two handcuffed men. "Don't think you can fool the guards again and get away from Granite Peak on foot. Target grids are positioned all around the mountain. You might never see the unexploded ordnance that kills you. Enjoy your stay, gentlemen."

"Oh, we will. By the way, for supper I prefer a nice medium rare top sirloin. How about you, Face?" The Colonel glanced at his Lieutenant.

He shrugged, trying to be as nonchalant as his CO. "Well, I kind of like mine well done."

Hannibal got a sparkle in his eye. "Maybe a baked potato on the side and some cheesecake for dessert?" The Colonel beamed at his captor.

Without another glance, Jackson left the room.

oooooo

When Murdock's senses started to come back to him, he found himself lying on his right side staring straight ahead. Things were too blurry at first for him to recognize his surroundings.

_Am I in my room at the V. A.? B. A.'s van? Where the hell am I? _

His muscles were tingling, twitching, coming alive again, as the ketamine wore off. He could no more prevent the aftermath of spasms from twisting his arms and legs into cramped unnatural positions than he could control the weather.

_Not gonna be flyin' anywhere anymore if I can't get my body t' listen t' my brain. _

Flying. That reminded him of the angels. They had disappeared a while ago but he knew he'd been talking to them. The angels had lifted him with them up to the ceiling and they all watched a doctor do some head surgery.

_Guy on the table looked familiar. Too hard to tell. Everythin' kept ripplin' 'n' movin' in slow motion. _

The heavenly beings that had been talking to him disappeared a while ago. Not even Billy was speaking to him anymore. He felt so alone.

He blinked several times to remove what seemed like a layer of grit between his eyelids and the surface of his eyes. They burned as if they had been open for an hour staring at the sun.

The walls, tall hedges of elephant grass, swayed in the breeze. They towered above him on three sides and changed into every hue of color imaginable.

_But how can grass be anythin' but green or light brown? _

The only way to get out of the rippling kaleidoscopic tunnel had to be behind him somewhere.

The flecks of gray on the patterned tile floor marched like tiny ants past the legs of the bed on which he lay. He moved his arm to touch them, to make them stand still. His hand jerked once and fell to the floor like a dead weight.

_Well, that didn' work out too good. Rest fer a while, then try 'gain. _

When he found his muscles were beginning to respond better to his silent commands, he pulled himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. His mind spun in a confused array of pulsating bright-colored dots and lines.

_If I'm gonna get outta here, I gotta move. _

Standing up was a tricky maneuver. The first time he attempted it, his legs wobbled and gave out, and he collapsed back onto the mattress. When he finally managed to get his feet under him, he stretched his arms out in front of him to sweep the elephant grass walls away. The knife-like blades sent hot needles of pain into his skin.

_I'm gonna bleed out all over the place if I don' stand still. But I ain' in Nam. This can't be real. None o' it's real. Is it? _

He brought a weak trembling hand up to his face. It was then he discovered the bandage above his ear. Frowning, he traced the outline of the gauze pad with his fingertips. The bandage holding it in place wrapped around his head.

_'Lectroshock? No, can't be. I know what that feels like, and this ain' it. 'Sides, they don' put a bandage on your head afterward. _

He tried to pick through what he remembered of the past several hours but it was all like shattered pieces of a window. Fitting the individual shards together was not that easy. Then, suddenly, a thought bombarded his mind that would explain the bandage. But it seemed too barbaric to be real. He remembered the sound of a drill close to his ear and pressure against his skull.

_Not like a dentist's drill. Like somethin' ya'd use to make a hole in a wall 'r' somethin'. _

He prodded at the bandage and the area around it, noting the swelling. That in itself was evidence that what he thought had happened was based in some sort of reality.

_Angels with power drills? Maybe B. A. fin'ly got fed up with my jibber-jabber 'n' tried t' fix my head. Wonder if he got it wired right. _

But he knew that wasn't what happened either. Bright images emerged from the dark corners of his mind and burst into sight briefly before crumpling in on themselves like photographs burning in a fire.

A man in a white lab coat with short gray hair, grooves in a concrete block wall rhythmically flashing by. Sounds and feelings accompanied the visuals: paralysis, restraints tightened on his body, the plunking of water in a steel sink, the squeaky wheels on a gurney.

He covered his ears and shut his eyes to stop all of it but it continued to torment him.

A jangling metallic sound and an amplified click from behind him alerted him to someone unlocking a door and opening it. The door shut again much too loudly.

_Or did whatever they gave me make everythin' seem huge and loud?_

Someone was in the room, if it was a room, with him. That someone would have answers. He tried to turn quickly toward the noise and threw out his arms to steady himself.

Colonel Jackson caught him as he pitched forward, his knees buckling.

_Gave me somethin', makes me feel like I been on an all night bender. Can' even keep my feet under me. _

His eyes focused in on who had come in the door and was now holding him upright."You! What'd ya let 'im do t' me?" Murdock slurred into the man's face.

The Colonel pushed him backwards, forcing him into a sitting position on the bed. As he peered up at him, the pilot sensed Jackson's surprise at seeing the bandage.

_He doesn' know what that quack did t' me either. How 'bout that? He ain' in as much control o' things 'round here than he'd like t' think. _

"You're hardly in a position to ask questions, Captain." He could sense Jackson scrutinizing him from where he stood.

_He's tryin' t' read my thoughts. Well, how 'bout this one, Frankie boy? My friends're gonna come get me 'n' when they do, yer whole project's gonna go down the tubes 'long with yer rank 'n' military career._

"I wouldn't count on that. In fact, I have two of them handcuffed in a room in this facility. They're waiting for a Colonel Lynch to come and take them away. And after a few more sessions your mind will be more focused on the mission for which you've been chosen than on the safety and welfare of your friends." The Colonel chuckled at the enraged expression on Murdock's face when he realized Jackson could read his thoughts so well.

"Why'd ya come in here? T' tell me that? T' gloat over me 'cause you think ya got me 'tween a rock 'n' a hard place?" The pilot let his voice raise.

_Maybe Face 'n' Hann'bal can get some idea where I am. _

"But you know _they_ can't do anything about it even if they do pinpoint where you are. They are fugitives who are going to take a long trip to the nearest military prison to be tried. And there's nothing _you_ can do about _that_ either." Jackson paused. "I came to see if you were ready for the next session, to see if you were coherent and still cooperative."

Murdock gripped the edge of the bed until his knuckles whitened. Then he got a rebellious glint in his eye and a smirk on his lips. He laughed like Woody Woodpecker and cleansed his mind of everything but the manic little bird in the blue and white suit.

_So Woody Woodpecker reads the sign on the window o' The Seville Barbershop, Tony Figaro, Proprietor . . . _

He had the whole cartoon memorized. All he had to do was make his thoughts like a show on a television screen and say the words in his head. No thoughts about his team members or remote viewing. Nothing but pure Woody.

Jackson took the four steps required to bring him to the bed where his test subject sat. Gripping the pilot's chin in one hand, he lifted Murdock's head until they made eye contact. "You forget. I know you aren't as crazy as you try to make everyone believe. If you can remember something like that cartoon word for word, Captain, then you're ready for the next session. I need to confer with Doctor Stafford and then we'll send Rollag to bring you to Laboratory Two."

Jackson's glare told the pilot the next hour or so was going to be very unpleasant. The Colonel removed his hand and left the room, locking the door behind him.

He left Murdock to his dread over what was to come.


	19. Chapter 19 Let the Crazy Out

Every Thought Captive

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 19 Let the Crazy Out

"Why'd ya come in here? T' tell me that? T' gloat over me 'cause ya think ya got me 'tween a rock 'n' a hard place?"

As soon as Face heard Murdock's voice, he sat straighter in the metal folding chair. Even though they were a distance away, the words and the anger came through loud and clear.

"Did you hear that, Hannibal? That sounds like Murdock!" Face strained to listen for more. It was somewhat of a relief to hear his friend's anger and not the frantic heartrending pleas from hours before. They were no closer to rescuing him from his captors but at least he knew the pilot had not been broken.

"I heard him."

"I wonder what kind of mission our turncoat doctor and the government wants him to do. It can't be good if that Colonel Jackson has to force him." Face turned to look at Hannibal who was eyeballing the door and thinking.

He couldn't ponder the answer to Face's question right now. The first order of business in any situation like this was to escape as soon as possible.

Since Jackson departed, they had been left alone in the room. Hannibal was certain there would be at least two guards outside. He also knew they would not easily fall for any ruses the two men might enact to escape. At least he didn't think they would. You never knew. Sometimes these military types had very little imagination. He had to hope for that.

The next sound Face and Hannibal heard made the Lieutenant's stomach churn. From wherever the distant room was located came a manic laugh that sounded remarkably like Woody Woodpecker himself. Had Murdock gone crazy? Or was this a way of coping when the enemy pressed in?

"Whatever the mission is, he's not doing it willingly. And what kind of things is Stafford doing to prepare him?" The Lieutenant shifted in his chair.

"I don't know but if we're going to have any chance to help him escape, we have to escape ourselves. Before Lynch arrives to escort us to a room with iron bars, I suggest we figure out a way to get out of these cuffs." Hannibal's voice was barely above a whisper. "Do you still have your lock-picking kit on you?"

"I'm afraid they took that along with the weapons. But the good news is they didn't check inside the top of my right sock and our captors didn't know what they were doing when they put these on us. You never cuff someone with their palms touching and you always double lock." Face knelt on the floor and felt around the top of his sock with his fingers. "Aha!"

Stumbling back onto his feet, Face backed up to Hannibal and showed him half of a bobby pin, the rubber tip removed. "I had a feeling this might come in handy sometime. Never leave home without a backup lock-picking device hidden somewhere on your person."

"A bobby pin?"

"Compliments of Aubrey Michele, my date to the L. A. Philharmonic concert at the Hollywood Bowl last August. I'm afraid she forgot it between the couch cushions when she left my place that night."

"Ah." The Colonel frowned and shook his head at the mental images the confession put in his mind. "The same Aubrey Michele who was my costar in 'Birth of the Aquamaniac?' I don't think I want or need to know more."

The Lieutenant shrugged and flashed him a dazzling apologetic smile before getting to work to free them.

It took several minutes of maneuvering, back to back, before one of Hannibal's cuffs released. When it did, Face transferred the bobby pin to the Colonel's hand to undo the other cuff and then those binding the Lieutenant.

"Face, you are an artist." Hannibal grinned as he rubbed the chafed skin around his wrists.

"Practice makes perfect. Now what, Colonel?" Face asked.

"Now we stage a medical emergency to bring the guards in here and we show them the right way to cuff someone. And then we go find Murdock and get out of here."

oooooo

"What the hell did you do to Captain Murdock, Doctor?" Colonel Jackson peered at the scientist he had managed to corner in the hallway.

"What do you mean what did I do?" Stafford stuffed his hands in his pockets and hunched before the military man's hostile question. Jackson noticed the doctor's expression changed from elated and triumphant to guarded and evasive. He would not meet the Colonel's eyes.

"The test subject has a bandage on his head." Jackson decided to see if the doctor would willingly divulge the information.

_And if he doesn't? He should know my psychic capabilities by now to not even try that. _

"Oh, that." Stafford leaned against the wall and attempted to appear nonchalant. "I'm afraid Captain Murdock tried to get up too quickly after the remote viewing session. When I came to Room 14 to prepare him, I found him unconscious on the floor with a gash above his ear. I stitched it up."

_He's lying. No matter. I can get the truth out of him. _

The Colonel focused his gaze on the man in front of him, pinning him to the wall like a specimen under glass with his coal black eyes. "You're lying." Jackson scowled at the doctor. "You are aware I can and will have you removed from this project if you don't cooperate."

Stafford removed his glasses and nervously polished them with the hem of his lab coat. "You can't do that. I'm the lead scientist."

"Try me. Now if you don't mind, tell me what you did and what you were hoping to accomplish by doing it, Doctor." His voice was a low menacing growl.

The scientist frowned at the Colonel and replaced his glasses on his nose before speaking.

"I was the lead scientist for another CIA project before I came to work on Project Silent Arrow. I had successfully used the device on chimpanzees. The funding dried up for the project before I could run the tests on human subjects. The money was diverted here for this." The last sentence was delivered in a bitter tone.

"What kind of device?" Jackson knew the government had been working on new ways to do surveillance both remotely and on the field, methods that would protect the agent from discovery. That, in essence, was what Project Silent Arrow was all about.

But funding had also been earmarked for development of mind control methods, the types of things that would allow an agent to "persuade" an enemy to do things beneficial to the United States cause. Things like making a major mistake in an arms deal leading to arrest and confiscation of the arms. Or getting the enemy to commit suicide. The agent wouldn't actually have to be on the scene. The government would be absolved of all involvement.

Stafford peered at the man standing in front of him. The doctor's wariness was commendable.

_But a hindrance. If he's developed what I think he has, I might have the means by which to rid myself of any threat of my part in Phoenix ever being known. _

The scientist glanced up and down the hallway. "Maybe it would be better if we spoke in a more discreet location?"

_It must be something big. The man is practically ready to explode with pride. He wants to share the secret if only to boast about his accomplishment. The man's weakness works to my advantage._

Jackson took Stafford by the elbow and guided him to Room 27, currently unoccupied.

oooooo

Murdock heard someone whistling "Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah" to the accompaniment of squeaking wheels. The door opened. The white-coated lab assistant . . . Rollag, he remembered Jackson called him . . . backed into the room with a wheelchair.

"Colonel Jackson sent me to get you for the next session." The assistant locked the brakes and gestured to the chair.

_Kid's not t' blame for what he's bein' tol' t' do. But I can't do 'nother one. Not this soon. Not with Jackson there. 'Specially not with him monitorin' the session. _

Murdock backed toward the wall. Maybe if he let the crazy out just enough to scare the kid, he could buy some time.

_They always say if ya want t' pretend t' be 'fraid, ya gotta think o' somethin' that scares ya shitless 'n' act like it's right there in front o' you. _

He let himself remember how he used to feel when Pa had him cornered in the barn. If he thought hard enough, he could almost hear Pa crunching the grit and straw under his boots and slurring his words as he hurled his hate-filled threats at Murdock.

Sometimes when he retreated into the darkest parts of his mind to avoid interviews with Colonel Lynch or questions from therapists other than Doctor Richter, he remembered way too well.

_Jus' gotta make sure I don' 'scape inta the nightmare. No Doctor Richter here t' get me back 'gain if I do._

Murdock had no doubts that Jackson would employ painful ways of getting him back to reality. Maybe electroshock. Maybe an overdose of insulin to the point of producing a grand mal seizure. Maybe a chemical cocktail that would leave him weak and defenseless.

He knew _all_ the tricks the psychiatric community had developed to stabilize mental patients. With most of them, he had intimate experience.

_'N' if Jackson catches wind o' this memory, he'll use it t' control me. But if the Company's been watchin' me ever since I was a kid, he already knows 'nough t' hurt me pretty bad. _

For now he had to prevent this remote viewing session from happening. And the only way he could see to accomplish that was to incapacitate himself, to make himself temporarily unusable.

_I can always blame it on whatever that quack doctor did t' me._ _If I'm not in my right mind, they can't send me nowhere. _

When he allowed his mind to return to his childhood, all the horror of his Pa's visits came back. Room 14 faded from his view, replaced by the dirt floor and stalls of his grandparent's barn. He was back in Texas.

He heard Pa's belt buckle being undone. The smell of hay and horse lather replaced the stench of stale liquor as the ghost from his past drew nearer. He continued to back away, the smells of the Sour Lake barn surrounding him. When he cast his frightened gaze on the person in the room, he saw his Pa.

"Number 47."

Murdock threw his arms up in front of his face to shield it from the slashes of the belt. At the same time, he allowed his knees to bend, sliding his back down along the wall until he sat on the floor in a tightly curled ball. He knew it wouldn't be long after the first few blows that Pa would throw the belt to the side and begin using his fists, feet and whatever other hard object he could find.

He waited, violently trembling as he did. His chest heaved with heavy short breaths of terror.

"I didn' tell 'em, Pa. I didn'. Yer secret's safe," he stammered. "Please, ya gotta b'lieve me."

"Captain Murdock, listen to me."

A hand gripped his shoulder and shook him. Every muscle tensed in his arms and legs. He gritted his teeth against the pain he knew would follow.

_If I hit 'im back, I'll get worse 'n a outta joint shoulder. _

He tightened his body even more into a small ball and rocked back and forth.

"Don' hurt me, don' hurt me, _don' hurt me._" The words tumbled out quicker and quicker. He was falling into the rabbit hole, leaving reality behind. He could no longer control the free-fall into the past.

Someone opened the door and rushed from the room, calling for help as he did.

He was alone with his terror.


	20. Chapter 20 Run To Freedom

Every Thought Captive

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 20 Run To Freedom

Stafford noted Jackson's pleased reaction to the information he had been told about the neuroelectromagnetic device now implanted in the auditory cortex of Murdock's brain.

_I hated to reveal any of this to him but how long was I going to be able to cover up the surgery I did? But he doesn't need to know all of what I'm doing. I don't want to lose control of my research again. _

Even though it meant the doctor would not have to proceed in as much secrecy as he originally thought, he wasn't sure about Jackson. The man had an evil aura around him.

It was especially pronounced whenever they spoke together about Captain Murdock or the discontinued CIA programs with which Murdock and the military man had been involved. Phoenix, Midnight Climax, MKULTRA, Stargate, programs which were either discontinued completely because of Congressional pressure or taken below ground to be continued under new names and increased secrecy. New programs like Project Silent Arrow were based on the building blocks of the old research.

It was necessary for a war-weary and government-wary public to never totally know the nature of such work. What Stafford was doing was near or on the cutting edge in the mid-80s.

_This will make my name equal to that of Oppenheimer in the annals of weapons development. _

"Just think, Colonel. A device a single centimeter in length could possibly modify a person's behavior and attitudes and prompt him to do things for the good of our country that he might never have considered doing before." The doctor used his hands to emphasize main points as he enthused about his subject.

Jackson's eyes gleamed as he nodded, encouraging the scientist to divulge everything about the project. "Captain Murdock could be programmed to do something he wouldn't ordinarily volunteer to do? Is that what you're trying to say?"

"Those are the types of possibilities I want to begin to explore. Before I was taken from my research, I exposed a chimpanzee to a highly painful experience. I forced it to hold onto a hot burner until blisters formed on the palms of its hands. I placed it in a cage with a burner and it cowered against the bars on the opposite side, afraid to approach the source of its pain. Then I implanted the device, and through a electromagnetic frequency beamed at the monkey, was able to influence it not only to draw near to the burner but also to touch it repeatedly. Even as its hide burned."

_The technology was showing promise and those fools in Washington couldn't see the possibilities, damn them! _

"Do you think Number 47, Captain Murdock, could be programmed to _crash_ the plane Cazador is on?" Jackson narrowed his eyes.

A flicker of alarm passed across the doctor's face. He widened his eyes, then frowned.

_No! If we do that, I'll lose the device and any testimonial to my work. _

Doctor Stafford's hesitancy told the Colonel all he wanted to know. "M . . . maybe. I won't know until I try a smaller target goal that means something personally to the test subject. It has to be something he values, something that he would protect to the point of sacrificing himself. He has to be willing to destroy it without questions or remorse when given the order."

The scientist flinched at the smirk that appeared on the Colonel's face. "I believe I know just the target."

"But if Number 47 eliminates Cazador through a plane crash, won't _he_ die, too?"

Jackson examined the doctor's horrified expression through cold black eyes. He knew the only reason Stafford protested was to protect the device his test subject carried in his brain. He did not really care what happened to Captain Murdock.

Jackson waved off the doctor's concern. "We're not ready for that part of the project so don't worry. We must continue to use the remote viewing sessions to gather the information we need on Cazador, his headquarters in San Antonio and the munitions storage site in Gema Escondida. Murdock must be trained to 'see' the present, to read Cazador's mind from a distance, to influence him. Once we have all of that, we'll be ready to prepare him to obey the program we plant in his mind."

Doctor Stafford began to regret the information he had given the Colonel. He realized too late Jackson's intentions.

_This is less about getting rid of Cazador than it is about eliminating Captain Murdock. I pity that man for the amount of hatred Jackson has for him. _

A knock at the door distracted both men. "Enter."

Rollag, wide-eyed and breathing hard, stood in the open doorway. "Doctor Stafford, you told me to let you know if I had any difficulty in getting Number 47 to Laboratory Two. The test subject isn't responding. He seems to be having some kind of psychotic episode."

"Damn it all!" Jackson's hands balled into fists. "Are you sure he isn't faking?"

The Colonel brushed past the assistant without waiting for an answer. Doctor Stafford followed, signalling Rollag to come with him.

As they neared Room 14, the wheelchair Rollag had brought to transport the test subject to the lab flew from the open door and crashed against the opposite wall.

With a earsplitting howl, Murdock bolted from the room, all of his strength behind his movement. He grappled Private Florey around his hips and knocked him to the floor. Wrestling the M-16 from the kid's hands, he scrambled to his feet, then backed down the hall on unsteady legs.

His harsh breaths were audible from several feet. The white bandage around his head drooped over one eye. He viciously tore it off and threw it on the floor.

"Stay 'way!" he growled. "Ya ain' gonna hurt me no more." He continued to edge away, sweeping the weapon back and forth in front of him to prevent any from advancing.

Reaching a passageway that opened to his left, he glanced quickly back at them before disappearing. His receding footsteps told them he was running as fast as he could away from them.

Jackson cursed at the young Private and drew his own pistol. "We've got to get him before he reaches the electrical plant service doors. Call ahead, Stafford, and have some men positioned outside in case he manages to break through. But tell them to subdue him, not injure him. He must be brought back here alive."

As Jackson and Florey made their way down the hall and turned down the passageway Murdock had taken, Stafford stared at Rollag. He licked his lips, still in shock over the incident that had just happened. "Get Laboratory Two ready. When Number 47 is recaptured, he will have to be sedated."

He limped quickly toward an office with a phone.

oooooo

From the instant he was left alone in the room, the door jammed open by the wheelchair, Murdock forced his panicked mind to think. His surroundings shifted from sterile white plaster and tile to the rough hewn timbers and dirt floor of his grandparents' barn in Sour Lake and back again.

_Ain' no time t' be wonderin' what's real 'n' what's not. Pa'll be back any minute 'n' then I'll be in for it. _

He noticed movement in the hallway, someone with a gun.

_One o' Pa's buddies tryin' t' keep me from runnin'?But that ain' no huntin' rifle. _

He weighed his options and decided on the element of surprise. Continuing to mutter "Don' hurt me, don' hurt me" to be sure to arouse no suspicion from the gunman, he crept toward the door.

The guard walked past without looking in and Murdock made his move. Kicking the wheelchair backward as hard as he could, he followed it through the door. The howl that escaped from his mouth surprised him.

_Where'd that come from? _

He hadn't intended to yell like that.

_Have I lost my mind? _

No time to think about it. He had to escape. Performing a perfect tackle on the young man, he grabbed the weapon and turned to face his enemies. There were more of them.

_If they choose t' rush me, I'm dead. _

He backed away. Even if his Pa wasn't among these men, he instinctively knew he was in trouble if they caught him.

_What's wrong with my legs? I gotta move, gotta get 'way 'n' feels like they've been hollowed out 'n' filled with cement. _

He concentrated on aiming the rifle and forcing his feet to obey the commands of his mind. Something white and gauzy half-covered his right eye. Reaching up, he tore the blindfold away and dropped it to the floor. Step by step he moved backwards down the hall, praying it did not dead end on him.

"Stay 'way! Ya ain' gonna hurt me no more." He heard the ferocity in his tone and hoped his captors would obey.

_Jus' stay put! Don' wanna shoot nobody. _

A hallway opened up on his left, one that seemed deserted. With one more wary look at the small group staring at him, he gripped the gun close to his bare chest and darted in the new direction. As his pace increased to a sprint, he found his legs losing the heavy feeling they had before.

_God, I hope there's a door t' the outside down here. If there ain' . . . _

Well, he didn't want to think about that. He kept his focus on escape and if he was recaptured, at least he would have given it a fighting effort.

oooooo

"Hey! Someone help! He's having a heart attack! Oh God!" Face yelled with a convincing amount of panic in his voice.

Hannibal slumped in his chair, facing the door so his uncuffed hands he held behind him were not visible to anyone coming in. The Lieutenant waited behind the door.

"If he dies, Colonel Lynch will have someone's head on a platter! Colonel Smith is a very important prisoner."

Without changing his position, Hannibal squinted with one eye at his Lieutenant. Face gave his CO a dazzling smile and continued his outburst.

"Colonel! Someone help me! He's dying!"

Keys jangled as they were fit in the lock. Moments later the door opened and the first of two guards hurried toward the man in the chair. The second guard hardly made it two steps into the room before Face had the handcuff chain around his neck.

He smashed his opponent's head against the inside of the door, slamming it closed. As the guard collapsed to the floor, Face deftly removed the M-16 from his shoulder. He turned it on the other man grappling with a suddenly revived Colonel.

"Need any help, Hannibal? Or have you got that one?" Face smirked. Hannibal brought his fist back and slugged the Private lying on the floor. The young guard's eyes closed as he went limp like the other soldier.

"No problems at all, Lieutenant." Hannibal rolled off the guard and sat up, his breathing a little more labored than he would have wanted to admit. "Now let's secure these two, find Murdock and get out of here. I've visited this installation long enough and I'm sure our Captain is more than ready to leave."

The Colonel divested the other guard of his weapon. Together, they handcuffed the two guards back to back, the handcuff chains linked together, and gagged them. They left the room and turned toward the last known location of their friend and team mate.


	21. Chapter 21 In Hiding

Every Thought Captive

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 21 In Hiding

Face was first to see the distracted doctor limping toward them.

"Hannibal," he hissed.

"Already saw him, Lieutenant." The older man moved quickly toward the approaching scientist before he noticed them.

Stafford looked up, saw the two men and spun around to go back toward the laboratories. His unsteady gait was no match for a furious Colonel intent on rescuing his pilot and friend.

Reaching out, Hannibal took Stafford's elbow in a viselike grip and jerked him backward.

With Face training his M-16 on the doctor, Hannibal growled a single question. "Where's Captain Murdock?"

Stafford glared silently at his two captors.

"I'll take you at gunpoint out into the salt flats and let my Sergeant take out his and our frustrations on your miserable carcass if you don't tell us what we want to know. And with no tricks this time." Hannibal's eyes turned a gun metal gray as he issued the threat.

Face gave the doctor an equally cold appraisal. "Aw, why let B. A. have all the fun, Colonel? And why wait to do it? Any one of these rooms will do as an interrogation room." He shoved his nose closer to the scientist, his voice a vicious snarl. "We know the best techniques the VC and the NVA used in Nam. Trust me. We will get our friend's location out of you."

Stafford tore his arm out of Hannibal's grip and thrust his hands in his pants pockets. "He escaped."

"So he left the installation?" The Colonel put a hand out to halt Face. The Lieutenant looked ready to rush headlong down the corridor toward the rooms where he last heard Murdock's voice.

"No. He escaped deeper into this facility." Stafford removed his glasses. "Look. The ketamine I gave him pushed him into a psychotic state. He tackled a guard and took his rifle."

"Ketamine? What's that for?" Face probed the doctor's ribs with his weapon.

"Lieutenant." Hannibal shot him a warning glance and turned his attention back to the scientist. "Why would you need to give Murdock anesthesia? What kind of surgery did you do?"

"Part of his preparation to fulfill the mission for the government." Stafford's eyes shifted toward the front entrance to the installation. "Your Captain Murdock is already too far into the project for you to get him out now. If you know what's good for you, you'll get away while you can and forget about your friend. After he has completed his mission for his government, you'll see him again but not before." He was lying but he knew the two men confronting him did not know that. They didn't have the psychic abilities Jackson trained himself to use.

"You know we can't do that, doctor." The Colonel grasped the scientist by the back of his collar and forced him to face the direction where the laboratories were located. "Shall we take you to Jackson at gunpoint and see how valuable you are to his team or will you cooperate with us and help us extract our friend?"

Stafford swallowed and shifted his eyes down to his feet. Jackson knew everything necessary to conduct the remaining remote viewing sessions. The Colonel had been one of those trained in it himself back in the 70s.

He didn't really need the doctor that much now that most of the secrets of the neuroelectromagnetic device implanted in Murdock's skull had been spilled. Stafford also had no doubt the military man would program the implant with a set of instructions designed to set Murdock on a course of actions which would fulfill the mission and Jackson's own agenda.

Jackson did need him to be the scientific name on the project, to lend authenticity to the work. In that respect he was useful. But not essential.

"There's no escape for Captain Murdock. Jackson already has too much of a hold on him. He has men covering the only doors he could use to get through to the outside. For all I know, they already have him back in custody. If they do, there's little I can do."

"Where would they take him if they did recapture him?" Hannibal began to push the doctor ahead of him down the hall.

"Laboratory Two. That's where the sessions take place."

"Then that's where we'll be waiting." The two A-team members exchanged determined glances as they escorted the doctor to the lab.

oooooo

The weapon in his hands wasn't a .22 or a 12 gauge shotgun. He'd used both to shoot squirrels and quail back home in Hardin County, Texas. He frowned down at the rifle. A vision of a shooting range and other soldiers flashed briefly in his mind.

_It ain' Pa 'n' his drinkin' buddies chasin' me. It's . . . who? _

Whoever was pursuing him must be military. He knew he couldn't stop to puzzle it out. Another bright photograph-like image emerged to replace the rifle range. He shuddered involuntarily.

_Jackson. _

Murdock heard at least two sets of footsteps pursuing him and urged his legs to move faster. Clutching the M-16 tightly to his chest and making sure it was set to fully automatic, he debated whether to spin around in a quarter circle and spray the hallway ceiling behind him with bullets.

_Won' buy me any time 'n' might get me killed on top o' it if they fire back. But Jackson wants me 'live. Would he shoot or wouldn' he? _

Whatever the doctor gave him was still working its way through his system. He had to concentrate harder on making his feet continue to move him forward. There was a huge disconnected feeling between his brain and his limbs. He couldn't trust his own mind to tell him the truth.

His muscles twitched uncontrollably as if someone was periodically shooting an electric current through his body. His heart beat an irregular rapid tempo inside his chest. He remembered those two feelings.

_Messin' 'round with the dark side o' the Company's business does that t' ya. Too much programmin'. _

He wildly peered at each doorway he passed. Any one of the doors could open and he would be recaptured.

_There're monsters b'hind those doors. _

The panicked thought that rose in his mind wasn't reasonable. He knew that.

"There ain' no monsters. There ain' no monsters."

He repeated the sentence over and over under his breath until he had himself almost convinced. A series of images flashed into his mind, each one affirming to him that there were indeed monsters in the world and they had human faces and names.

_Pa . . . Hollis Latreque . . . Connors . . . Major Trinh . . . Ferret and the other guards . . . _

He swallowed back the frightened howl that burned his throat at the thought of the men from his past who had either abused him, wanted him dead or both. Men who delighted in the amount of pain they could afflict, the number of whimpers and screams they could induce.

He skidded to a halt in an intersection of corridors leading to his right and to his left. Ahead of him were two double doors with emergency exit labeling. He took one step toward them and stopped.

His intuition prickled at the thought of bursting through the doors. Over the years he had learned to obey his gut instincts. They were seldom wrong.

_They're waitin' fer me out there. Armed men. I'm cornered 'tween the guys b'hind me and the ones out there. _

Taking a deep breath he bolted down the corridor to his left. If he could only have some time to focus, he could "see" where he had to go to evade his captors and get away. Maybe he could even "see" where the guys were so they could all escape together.

A voice that sounded suspiciously like that of Jackson's overrode every other thought and voice in his head.

_You have just made your next remote viewing session one you will dislike immensely. _

Murdock shivered in response to the threat. Jackson would put him in the ropes again in the interrogation hut of Major Trinh's POW camp. He would make him relive the agony of shoulder joints dislocating, his skin being shredded by a broken rubber fan belt, all of the torture of the camp.

Or maybe he would make him relive one of Pa's beatings. Would he be made to feel his arm being broken all over again, his face being punched so many times it was nothing but a bleeding painful mass of cuts and bruises? Or worse?

_You know you can't hide from me. Make it easier on yourself and surrender now. _

"Go t' hell," Murdock murmured under his breath. His eyes fell upon the row of doors lining the hallway.

_Which door? Which one's gonna open t' the perfect hidin' place? Is it Door Number One? Door Number Two? Or Door Number Three? _

He shook his head to rid himself of the image of Monty Hall, the "Let's Make a Deal" host, maybe standing behind one of the doors with a prize just for him.

_Can I even 'scape? Jackson knows what I'm thinkin' 'n' he's gotta be tryin' t' figure out where I disappeared to. _

Murdock drew in a shaky breath and chose the third door he came to on his left. Trying the knob, he breathed out a relieved sob as it opened to him.

He hugged the M-16 to himself and huddled inside the doorway of the tiny room, waiting for his eyes to adjust.

_The Invisible Woman's cloak'd come in real handy 'bout now._

An angry voice shouted out an order just outside the room in which he was hiding.

"He can't have gone very far. Find him."

Footsteps went past in the hallway and faded as they kept going.

Only then did he allow himself to relax somewhat. He never appreciated the dark as much as he did now.

The room he found himself in reeked of ammonia and other cleaning chemicals. He could faintly make out a large sink opposite the door. A janitor's cleaning cart sat close by it. Pushbrooms and dust mops were propped against the wall.

Trembling, he staggered to the sink and crouched beneath it. He wrapped his left arm around the drain pipe, laying the weapon across his lap and curling his finger around the trigger.

_All I need's a li'l time t' focus, try t' find the guys. Try t' find Amy. _

He attempted to slow his breathing, to allow his brain waves to descend into the theta wave pattern.

_I'm sunk if Jackson detects what I'm doin'. _

In his mind he "saw" an image of Hannibal and Face leaving a room. Both carried an M-16. They were coming down the corridor toward the remote viewing laboratory.

_Thank God, they got 'way. But they gotta leave me. They ain' ever gonna get pas' the hornet's nest I stirred up. _

He "saw" a white-coated scientist, the one who had given him the drugs, the one he called Limpy, recognize them and turn to walk in the other direction.

Jackson's taunting voice intruded. _Come out, come out, wherever you are. We have many more things to do to prepare you, Captain. Where are you? _

Uneasy he had not "seen" Amy with his friends, Murdock squeezed his eyes shut to force his mind to become a blank screen.

_Maybe Jackson won' figure out where I am if I don' think anythin'. _

He could not resist a last remote view of Hannibal and Face, the Colonel gripping the doctor by his elbow and demanding answers.

The door opened. After the comforting darkness of the janitor's utility room, the fluorescent lighting streaming in blinded him. Moments later the light was blocked by the shadow of a figure in the doorway.

Murdock propped the stock of the M-16 against his right shoulder and aimed.


	22. Chapter 22 Come Out, Come Out

Every Thought Captive

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 22 Come Out, Come Out

"Amy, ya sure yer alright?" B. A. watched the reporter as she leaned her head back against Hannibal's seat in the van and swallowed.

"I'll be alright, B. A." Her voice was barely a whisper and the black Sergeant sensed her answer was laced with unspoken fear.

He stared toward the installation. Fifteen minutes had passed since they observed armed men approach a separate set of doors in another part of the Granite Peak underground installation. Hidden behind the rocky outcroppings a distance away, they appeared to be waiting for someone to come through the exit.

The reporter and the Sergeant sat in silence watching and waiting for any further drama but none happened.

"They're posted there for a reason," Amy mused. Then, "B. A.?" Her voice had a quaver to it that he wasn't accustomed to hearing.

_Aw, damn! I don't know how ta take care of her if she falls apart on me now. _

He opened a new bottle of water and offered it to her as a way of avoiding the question he felt sure she was going to ask.

She pushed aside the bottle and asked the question anyway.

"What if Hannibal and Face don't find him and none of them come back?"

The Sergeant hadn't thought all of that through. He wasn't normally the plan-maker. But now that the question was out there, he was forced to consider their options.

"First of all, Hannibal an' Faceman ain' gonna leave the fool in there. They'll tear the mountain down rock by rock 'til they find 'im." He nodded to himself, knowing that to be true. More silence.

_Or am I jus' tryin' ta convince myself? _

"You said 'first of all.' That usually means there's a second point." Amy gave him the faintest of smiles. Not a very happy look but even a small touch of humor was better than a mind- and body-paralyzing focus on worst case scenarios.

"Second, if Hannibal an' Faceman get caught, whoever's in charge'll send for Colonel Lynch." He didn't want to assume his team mates had been captured but he had to think it likely after all the activity they witnessed.

"How do you know?"

"He's the one assigned ta track us down." He noticed her small frown and reached over to grip one of her hands in his.

"That'll mean they'll be arrested and sent back to Fort Bragg."

_No, it don't. Not as long as I'm still out here. _

"Don't worry. It'll take Lynch time ta get here. We'll be waitin' for him. No way he's gonna take the Colonel and Faceman back to a military prison. Ya gotta trust me on this one, Amy." He added under his breath, "We just gotta have a good plan."

He was relieved when she pressed his hand in hers and gave him a more genuine smile.

"It won't be one of Hannibal's so maybe it has a chance of working." She paused, the sadness not quite disappeared from her tone. "Thanks, B. A."

"Don' mention it, li'l sis."

oooooo

Doctor Stafford paused before reaching for the doorknob to the remote viewing laboratory. How much this Colonel Smith saw and how much he understood of it when he had entered the room before being captured, the doctor did not know.

How much would these two men force him to divulge about Project Silent Arrow?

He had no doubts that the Captain had already been caught either inside the installation or by the armed men outside the power plant service doors.

_Thank God, I made that little phone call to Lieutenant Parkins before these men found me. There's no escape for Number 47. _

He had been on his way to the outside when he was intercepted. He intended to be there if Murdock should try to leave the facility via those doors.

_I hope Parkins knows how valuable the test subject is and none of his men shoot first and ask questions later. _

"When they bring Captain Murdock back here, he may not recognize you." He glanced at the grim-faced men on either side of him.

"We'll take our chances on that, Doc." The Lieutenant prodded the scientist in the ribs with his weapon and roughly pushed him with one hand through the door as soon as he opened it.

Giving the hallway one last careful scrutinizing look, Hannibal followed. Face already had Rollag and Stafford standing with their backs against the wall, the palms of their hands flat against its surface.

The Colonel's icy gaze took in the metal tray with the syringe of haloperidol and the remote viewing chair with its vital signs monitoring equipment as well as the booth where Jackson and Brandler had observed the first session.

"It may be a tight squeeze but suppose the four of us go into that little room and wait." Hannibal waved the M-16 toward the door of the observer's room and waited for Rollag and Stafford to dutifully go where directed. Once in the room, Face shut the door.

"We'll be hidden here under the console, Doctor. If you or your assistant say or do one thing to let Jackson or his men know what's happening, remember we have these guns pointed at you for good reason." Hannibal and Face crouched beneath the desk with its audiovisual recording and communications equipment.

Stafford glanced at Rollag and shrugged, then sat in one of the two chairs. "Might as well sit down, too, Mister Rollag. If Captain Murdock is as clever as I believe he is, Jackson will not find him very easily."

_Unless Jackson uses his psychic abilities to track him down. And I'm certain Jackson will use every tool available to him to accomplish his agenda. _

The scientist sighed and laced his fingers together in his lap. With a gun pointed at him, it felt like it might be a very long wait.

oooooo

_Come out, come out, wherever you are. We have many more things to do to prepare you, Captain. Where are you? _

Murdock cringed at the words Jackson projected into his brain. The Colonel read what he was thinking before. The Woody Woodpecker cartoon he tried to put up as a screen against the military man's mind probe served only to make his captor more determined. He knew Jackson would probably use his abilities again to search him out.

"Seeing" Hannibal and Face in his mind and noting they were armed and had the limping doctor with them was a relief.

_But Hannibal don' leave anyone b'hind. He won' try t' escape b'fore they find me. _

It was a disturbing as well as a comforting thought, all at the same time. Closing his eyes tightly, he focused on making his mind a blank screen. He wished Hannibal would find him before Jackson did.

One last remote view of his two friends brought him a small degree of hope.

_Hol' down the fort. The cavalry's comin'. _

And then the door opened. Someone stood in the doorway silently staring down at him as he lifted the M-16 to his shoulder.

He felt the light-obliterating figure's intense scrutiny, felt his mind being assaulted, his most recent thoughts being taken captive, before his captor spoke.

"You don't want to do that, Captain Murdock."

Jackson's face was in shadow. The fluorescent lighting behind him glinted dully off the pistol in his hand. It was impossible to see his expression clearly but the tone of his voice sent an electric shock down Murdock's spine.

_Can' see his eyes t' know when he's gonna fire. 'N' he'll be more 'n happy t' do it._

Jackson responded to Murdock's thoughts with a sneer on his lips. "And you know I will if you give me trouble. Now, you don't really want to try to shoot me, do you?" The mocking quality of the man's words made Murdock's finger curl tighter around the trigger.

Gulping back his fear, the pilot muttered, "Sure I do, if jus' t' see ya die a painful death like ya did t' Sky, Henderson 'n' the others."

"Sky?" Jackson chuckled. "Oh, you mean Mai Thị Bầu Trời? Oh, yes. Your little Vietnamese girlfriend was delicious. So lovely until the very end." Murdock could hear the triumph in the other man's tone. For a blinding second he "saw" what Jackson wanted him to see: the violated body of the eighteen year old Vietnamese girl, bloodied, bruised, two fingers and one ear severed and discarded, dead.

He trembled but this time from the seething fury churning inside him. In 1972, no one _wanted_ to tell him how she died but he forced the old Vietnamese doctor to tell him anyway. It was one more trauma that damaged his mind forever. But he had to know.

_Sky. I killed ya jus' as surely as if I'd been the one rapin' 'n' beatin' ya. _

"And Henderson? He gave you the wrong advice before he died. Getting yourself admitted to the VA hospital by acting crazy or actually going insane wasn't going to save you. I still knew where you were and how to get you when the time was right." Jackson's sneer was more pronounced. He took a confident step toward Murdock and pointed the barrel of his weapon directly at the pilot's forehead.

Murdock could clearly see the pistol, a Colt .45. _Prob'ly a Government Model M1911A1. Guys like Jackson don' think outside o' the box. _

He felt himself begin to hyperventilate and tried to slow his breathing. The waves of menace emanating from Jackson made the atmosphere in the small janitor's room smothering. The same kind of terror had driven him to the edge of his sanity between interrogations in the death camp.

_He's doin' some o' that psychic shit with my mind. Gotta get outta here if I gotta get myself shot doin' it. _

Murdock glared at his opponent and staggered to his feet, readying himself for attack.

"Either shoot me now 'r get outta my way," he growled.

Jackson's coal black eyes pierced him and made him falter.

A split second later a severe pain shot through his skull. The M-16 suddenly grew too heavy in his hands and he dropped it onto the floor. Seconds later his knees folded under him. He knelt, head bowed, his hands clasping either side of his head, eyes squeezed tightly against the intense migraine.

Jackson's silent voice mocked him. _I knew you couldn't stand up against me. A student is never better than his teacher. _

The Colonel lifted a walkie talkie to his mouth as he nudged the M-16 away from Murdock with his foot. "Florey. Nelson. Bring a gurney with full restraints to the janitor's utility room. I found him."

It took the two Privates a few minutes to locate a gurney to transport Murdock to the laboratory. Jackson had all the time he needed to mentally subdue the test subject.

By the time Private Florey stuck his head inside the doorway to the janitor's room, Murdock was lying curled up on his side on the floor. His body shook convulsively with barely controlled weeping. He wrapped his arms around his belly and muttered words in a foreign language . . . Florey guessed some kind of Oriental language . . . under his breath.

"Bạn không phải giết chết cô. _Bạn không phải giết chết cô! _(You don't have to kill her.)"

Jackson stepped back to allow his men into the room. Florey grasped Murdock's legs while Nelson slid his arms under the pilot's armpits. He hung like a dead weight between them, offering no resistance. With difficulty, the two Privates lifted the pilot onto the gurney and lashed him down with the restraints.

By the time they finished, Murdock had gone silent. Staring straight up at the hallway ceiling through clouded eyes, he seemed to have retreated into his own world.

Jackson preceded the gurney down the hall. Before opening the door to the utility room, he had obtained a fleeting glimpse from Murdock's mind of the two A-team men and the captive doctor.

_They won't leave without the Captain. I'm certain of that. They chanced being caught and arrested to try to free him. No, they won't use the doctor for their own escape before they have Murdock with them. _

He kept his mind focused on Stafford and where he might have been taken.

"Talking" to the doctor through his thoughts was out of the question. Stafford may have been monitoring the remote viewing session and implanting his own experiment into Murdock, but he had not volunteered his own mind to be utilized for remote viewing.

_Or for any of the other psychic experiments we've been running through the years. His loss, my gain. He doesn't know how powerful these abilities can make a person. _

Coming to Laboratory Two, Jackson hesitated. He sensed the presence of four people in the lab, two more than would be expected to be there. Making a quick decision, the Colonel walked on past and opened the door to Laboratory One.

"Bring him in here, gentlemen. Florey, tell Parkins I have the test subject but he is to keep his men on alert. Nelson, find me a lab assistant. Have him bring me a low dose sedative."

As Florey and Nelson left to their duties, Jackson folded his arms and contemplated Murdock's almost catatonic state.

"Just in case. But somehow, I think I'll be able to program you without having to use it." He nodded to himself with satisfaction. "And then we'll see how well that device works in your head."


	23. Chapter 23 Listen To My Voice

Every Thought Captive

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 23 "Listen to My Voice"

"Will you need anything else, sir?" Private Florey kept one eye on the restrained pilot and the other on his superior, hoping he could be dismissed. Ever since the maniacal test subject tackled him in the hallway and wrested the M-16 from his grasp, the Private wanted as little to do with Murdock as possible. The man on the gurney seemed almost comatose now but Florey didn't want to take any chances.

Jackson eyed the young Private and gritted his teeth. "No, that will be all for now. Stand outside the doorway in case I need your assistance.

Florey let out the breath he was holding and quickly stepped from the room.

After the Private left him alone in Laboratory One with Murdock, Jackson continued to provide his test subject with gruesome images from his past to destabilize his mind. He had time to kill before the lab assistant would appear and he could begin the programming procedure.

_Plenty of time to make you compliant and easy to work with. _

With each memory the Colonel forced him to recall, Murdock shuddered. Even with his wrists restrained, his hands gripped whatever they could, the fingernails clawing the gurney mattress under him. His eyes rolled wildly at everything around him, seeing vividly what was not there.

What Murdock did not remember readily on his own, Jackson provided from his own memories of interrogations he had conducted. Currently the pilot was "seeing" Jackson use a machete and a wooden block to chop Sky's ring finger off one joint at a time.

For a moment the Colonel smiled in reflection.

_That's another difference between you and me, Captain. I got used to the cries of suspects being interrogated, the blood that had to be spilled for our cause. You did not. _

"Bạn không phải giết chết cô. _Bạn không phải giết chết cô! _(You don't have to kill her.)"

The man on the gurney craned his head toward his captor and snarled the words. He twisted his wrists against the leather restraints in a futile effort to free himself.

_But I already did. The Vietnamese doctor showed you the body. Remember? _

Involuntary tears appeared in the corners of the captive's eyes as he cried out her nickname. "Sky!"

_But perhaps this memory is more to your liking. _

Murdock gasped in pain with the new implanted image. Jackson "saw" the interrogator they called Ferret in the POW camp tightly cinch the Captain's elbows together behind his back. The pilot's shoulder blades almost met as his breaths hissed out in short panting huffs.

Knowing the pilot could experience every sensation of the memory through the projection of his thoughts, the Colonel smirked.

"Murdock, H. M., Captain, United States Army." Murdock's hoarse rasp ratcheted into a whimper at the end. His face tightened in agony even as his eyes slid closed.

Of course, none of it was really happening. Jackson and the pilot were alone together in a sterile white laboratory in the Granite Peak installation. Murdock saw nothing but the walls and dirt floor of a POW camp interrogation hut, felt nothing but his tortured past as Jackson projected the images into his mind, one by one, to keep him under control.

_See any ghosts lately, Number 47? Your past truly can haunt you, can't it, Captain? _

Jackson chuckled to himself, then grew serious. At some point when he was ready to begin the procedure, he would have to release Murdock from the horror show in his mind. When that happened, the test subject might become unpredictably dangerous. In fact, he could count on it.

_You have every reason to hate me and want to see me dead, don't you, Murdock? Well, you won't get the opportunity to fulfill that desire. Not as long as I have control of your mind. _

A knock at the door alerted the Colonel to the appearance of a lab assistant from another project sent to bring him the syringe and vial of haloperidol.

"Ah, Mister Nappler. Come in." Even as Jackson said the words and diverted his attention to the assistant, he unwillingly freed Murdock's mind from his assault.

"You bloodthirsty bastard!" Murdock shouted the three words at the military man. Nappler was caught by surprise and gazed with alarm from the test subject to the Colonel.

Jackson cursed inwardly. The last thing he needed was for an underling to wonder what the restrained man meant by his hostile words. He noted a glimmer of doubt in the assistant's eyes.

Moments later as Jackson swung his intense gaze back to him, the Captain groaned in pain.

_Shut up! We don't want Mister Nappler to get the wrong ideas about this procedure, do we? _

Jackson delved deeper into Murdock's memories and found one he knew would silence him.

_Do you remember how it felt to listen to your best friend's screams as he was interrogated? _

The lab assistant transferred his weight from one foot to the other, unsure why the military man was so slow in beginning the procedure. He didn't want to stay in this lab with the obviously insane test subject any longer than he had to. Working with biological weapons was less intimidating. Incurable diseases didn't yell threats at you.

Even as Jackson kept his mind engaged on quieting the pilot, he nodded for Nappler to administer the sedative. "Not too much. Just enough to calm him down," he muttered, forcing Murdock's frantic brown eyes to remain locked in on his.

The Colonel could sense the pilot's agitation, could "see" Murdock trying to stroke the furry head of an invisible dog as he drew himself into a tight ball on the wooden platform in the hut. The slow rocking back and forth as the Lieutenant's screams increased in number and volume. But at least he was silent except for small whining sounds coming from deep inside his chest.

Haloperidol and ketamine. Probably not a good combination used so closely together but then if he made a fatal error he could blame General Brandler's impatience and Doctor Stafford's unavailability.

The screams Murdock thought he heard in his mind faded as the drug took effect. His muscles relaxed and his brain felt as if it were cocooned in cotton wool.

"And so we begin, Mister Nappler. Place the headphones on Number 47 and dim the lights." As the assistant followed his instructions, Jackson positioned himself at the microphone in the sound booth and found the paper printout Stafford had taken of Murdock's brain wave patterns. He nodded approvingly when he discovered the electromagnetic signature pulse the doctor planned to incorporate in conjunction with the hypnotic suggestion.

When the pulse connected with the neuroelectromagnetic transmitter in Murdock's brain, it would produce a sound similar to ringing in his ears that no one else would hear. The sound served as a trigger that would signal the pilot to begin to perform the programmed set of instructions. The nice thing about it was that the set of instructions could not be ignored or disobeyed once planted as a hypnotic suggestion.

But first, the pattern of the pulse and the instructions had to be simultaneously implanted in the auditory cortex of the Captain's brain.

Nappler glanced toward the Colonel as soon as he finished dimming the lights.

"Wait outside the door until I call for you, Mister Nappler." Jackson smiled as the assistant hurried to obey and then directed his attention to the man on the gurney. Setting a dial to emit the signature pulse through the pilot's headphones, the Colonel spoke into the microphone.

"Captain Murdock. I want you to relax and listen to my voice. When you hear the ringing sound in your ears, you will follow these instructions . . . "

oooooo

"I hear voices, Colonel." Face shot Stafford an accusatory look. "One of them said something that sounded like Vietnamese."

"I heard the same thing, Lieutenant." Hannibal's steel blue eyes regarded the doctor. "You're sure you were going to do the next session in here?"

"Yes. You can see for yourselves the remote viewing chair and the monitoring equipment. Those were the plans even before the test subject attacked the guard and escaped." Stafford waved his hand toward the outer room.

They heard the voice from the other room yell. "Sky!" The Lieutenant flinched in recognition of the nickname. It was a name Murdock screamed aloud sometimes during his worst nightmares.

"I don't know about you, Colonel," Face snapped, "but I'm getting really tired of hearing Murdock being referred to as 'the test subject.' He's a human being, not a chimpanzee or guinea pig, you know. He didn't volunteer for this."

"He's serving his country." The doctor nervously squirmed in his seat.

"He already served his country and served it better than you could ever dream of, Doc. So don't give me all that bullshit about mom, apple pie and hooray for the red, white and blue." Face skewered the scientist with his angry blue eyes. "He served his country so well, he ended up making the VA psych ward his residence for the past eleven years or more. He shouldn't have had to sacrifice his sanity for Uncle Sam."

"He was the perfect candidate for this project," Stafford protested weakly.

More agitated words came from the same place as the Vietnamese words. "You bloodthirsty bastard!"

Face and Hannibal stared at each other for a brief moment. Hannibal was the first to speak. "That was Murdock. This is Laboratory Two, you said. They must have taken him to Laboratory One. What type of work is Laboratory One set up for?"

Stafford licked his lips and anxiously eyed the two M-16s pointed at him.

Rollag shifted in his chair, gripping the edges tightly.

Noting his unease, Face aimed the barrel of his gun toward the lab assistant. "Maybe _you_ can tell us."

Rollag gulped and gave his superior an apologetic glance. "Laboratory One is fully equipped to do minor surgeries as well as having a room similar to this one for experiments involving sensory deprivation and hypnosis."

"Sensory deprivation? Hypnosis?" The Lieutenant stared at the doctor in disbelief.

"You said Jackson had too much control over Murdock already. Exactly what would he hope to do with him in that lab, Doc?" Hannibal tightened his grip on the weapon. It was a small movement but the doctor's eyes widened at the threat it implied.

Stafford gave Rollag a reproachful glare before answering.

"If he's doing what I think he's doing, your Captain Murdock belongs completely to this project now. He has no more loyalty to you until he can be released from the hypnotic suggestions being planted in his mind." The doctor leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms with a smug smile. The confidence he was trying to display was much more than he felt.

Hannibal put his arm out to prevent Face from lunging at the scientist. "Stay back, Lieutenant. Nothing will be gained by tearing Mister Stafford here limb from limb." The grim blue eyes scanned the doctor's face before settling on Rollag. "Here's what you're going to do."

"Me?" squeaked the lab assistant, pointing a thumb at his own chest. He gulped.

"You're going to wait until this session is finished and Murdock is taken back to his room. Then you will find an excuse, any excuse, to bring him to this lab. We will be holding Doctor Stafford here at gunpoint until Murdock is delivered. You will not have any military types come with you. Is that clear?" Hannibal waited until Rollag hesitantly nodded.

Stafford leaned forward and sneered, "And after that?"

Hannibal gave him one of his coldest smiles. "We leave with you accompanying us. You reverse whatever has been done to our friend. When we get far enough away from the Dugway Proving Grounds, we'll release you unharmed."

Doctor Stafford frowned. "What if I can't undo what Jackson has done to the test s . . . " He glanced at Face and swallowed. "To Captain Murdock's mind? What then?"

The Colonel patted the medical man on the knee in mock friendliness. "I'm sure you'll figure it out, _Doc_."


	24. Chapter 24 A Matter of Loyalty

Every Thought Captive

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 24 A Matter of Loyalty

Nappler gave Private Florey an impersonal nod and smile as he folded his arms and waited outside the door to Laboratory One. Leaning up against the wall, he attempted to stifle a yawn with the sleeve of his lab coat.

Doctor Wendling, the scientist to whom he was officially assigned, would be wondering where he had gone. He had been in the process of isolating a special deadly bacterial agent on an agar plate when Florey rapped on the door to Laboratory Four. He rushed the last step of his work to respond to the order.

It had been an hour and Colonel Jackson was still in Laboratory One with the lunatic test subject.

_I'm definitely going to catch hell from Wendling if that bacterial culture is spoiled from a hurried job. _

He restlessly shifted position and cleared his throat. The man on the gurney hadn't made any more sounds after he yelled at the military man conducting the session. There was no indication of trouble.

_So why the hell am I supposed to wait? And where's Doctor Stafford and his assistant? They're the ones in charge of these psychological experiments._

Nappler sighed. There was no doubt in the lab assistant's mind that Jackson had, during his long military career, done some brutal things. The man creeped him out. "Bloodthirsty bastard," what the test subject shouted, seemed to fit the man if the atmosphere surrounding the Colonel was any indication of his character.

The lab assistant scuffed the tile floor of the hallway with one toe. The sooner he could return to Wendling and the bacterial cultures he was responsible for the better as far as he was concerned.

oooooo

"Your target coordinates are 31-56-200-42-70-03. Write them down. 31-56-200-42-70-03."

Murdock's eyes were closed, his expression blank. His breaths were slow and rhythmic. His brain settled into a state of relaxation that would have been comfortable if he didn't know it was necessary for serious government business.

Unlike the session when he "saw" Happy Valley in Vietnam, Jackson did not have to threaten him with his past this time. He didn't know exactly what Jackson said or did during the sedation and hypnosis, but his attitude toward the Colonel had changed. He knew that.

_Still don' trust 'im completely but he showed me who's gotta be watched even more 'n him. Hard t' b'lieve. _

But he couldn't think about betrayal right now. He had important work to do for his country.

His phantom spirit detached from his physical body and drifted through the ether, through the tunnel to the target site.

His hand moved the pen across the almost blank page. The line he drew was wavy with several high bumps.

"Mountains, solid," he murmured. Beside the letter A, he wrote "Busy. Moving. Guarded."

"What do you see, Number 47? Look around you."

He looked above into a bright robin's egg blue sky. Gazing down, he saw an expanse of desert sand, rounded mountains and various cacti and other desert plants. Parked on a dirt road at the foot of a hill was a white delivery truck. Men walked to and from a timber-reinforced hole in the side of the hill. They worked in pairs carrying long crates from the hillside to the truck.

"Air's hot, dry. Sun's beatin' down. Scrub oak, rosewood, agave, bear grass, prickly pear cactus . . . desert, maybe? A hill with a hole in its side. Logs 'round th' entrance. Looks like a cave. Men're workin'. Carryin' wood boxes t' a white truck like th' kind laundry's delivered in." Murdock paused as a man slammed the rear doors shut and walked around to the driver's side.

"Looks like it's gonna take off now."

"Okay. Good. Now I want you to go into the cave."

Murdock felt his phantom body move through the air and to the entrance.

"There're voices, men's voices. Air's a li'l cooler in the cave."

"Go toward the sound of the voices."

"They got a gas generator feedin' 'lectricity t' some lights inside. I see weapons. Grenade launchers, M-16s, Stingers, sniper rifles, mortar cannons, ammo. They look 'merican-made, like military issue. The guys talkin' 're packin' it in crates 'n' sealin' 'em. Buncha crates stacked 'gainst th' walls." He wrote down the names of the weapons he saw and waited for Jackson's next question. A series of letters and numbers came to him and he jotted them down: N31 89564W110 59286.

"Do the crates have any markings?"

"Let me get in closer." Murdock frowned where he sat. He lightly sketched the ornate 'C' and the crest surrounding it. "That don' make sense. Th' outside o' the crates says 'Fragile' 'n' 'Glass' but they ain' packin' glass."

"You aren't supposed to interpret yet what you're seeing, 47. Now I want you to locate the truck that left the site. Lift up high in the air and see if you can find it."

Murdock felt his body rise into the brilliant blue skies.

_This's almost 's much fun as bein' in the cockpit. _

The delivery truck was not difficult to see. He swooped down toward the dust trail it left behind, then tailed it as it left the dirt road and took to the highway.

"Found it. Tailin' it. Headin' west."

"Okay. I want you to think about that truck and go ahead in time to where the weapons are unloaded. See if you can find any location signs."

Murdock's phantom body entered the ether. When he came back out, he found the truck and several men unloading the contents into the cargo bay of a CH-34.

He knew what it was when he saw it. There were enough of those cargo helicopters sitting idle waiting for spare parts and maintenance in the waning years of the Vietnam War after they had been relinquished into the hands of the South Vietnamese military.

Jackson's impatient voice interrupted his train of thought. "What do you see?"

"Makes even less sense now. Crates're bein' loaded on a CH-34 Choctaw. Damn few o' those bein' used in the United States. They were mostly military . . . "

The Colonel's voice was sharp as if he wanted to redirect the path Murdock's exploration was taking. "Where is the chopper located? Look for signs. What airport?"

The pilot scanned the area. "Ain' an airfield. Looks like some kind o' ranch. Sign on th' main gate says 'Cielo Azul.'"

"That's good enough. I want you to come back now." Jackson sounded excited even over the top of the soothing soft voice he used for most of the session.

Murdock's muscles spasmed as he sped through the tunnel that led to his physical body and reality.

He was aware of images that appeared fuzzy at first, then came into sharp focus as they flew past him. A black man with a wealth of gold around his neck and an angry scowl on his face . . . a white-haired man with amused blue eyes and holding an unlit cigar in one black-gloved hand . . . a blonde-haired man around his own age poised beside a red and white Corvette . . . he knew now these three were a threat to Project Silent Arrow, and by threatening Silent Arrow, they threatened the security of the United States of America. Jackson had shown him things that convinced him they did not have his or his country's best interests in mind.

The first part of his mission would involve them but he didn't know how.

_Won't know 'til someone tells me. Jus' gotta make sure they suspec' nothin' 'n' meantime wait for my orders. _

Murdock felt his heart begin to hammer inside his chest and droplets of sweat form on his body. As soon as his psyche and physical body were reunited, the migraine headache slammed him with the force of a runaway garbage truck hitting a stone wall. He groaned with the severity of the blinding pain and clutched his forehead with both hands. Bending over double, his breath hissed out from between clenched teeth.

"Bad headache, huh?" Jackson left his monitoring station and appeared beside him. He sounded sincerely sympathetic. Murdock felt the Colonel place one hand on his shoulder and give it a tentative massage. "You know it'll pass in a while. The information you got was vital to Project Silent Arrow. You did a good job, Captain."

A voice inside his mind warned him not to trust this man who had proven himself untrustworthy in Nam.

_Billy? _

The voice quickly faded and was replaced by Jackson's own words. "You did an _excellent_ job, Captain. Your country is grateful for your loyalty and service."

oooooo

As soon as Hannibal heard the door down the hall close he nodded to Rollag. "That's your cue, I believe. As soon as Captain Murdock is settled back in his room, give it about fifteen minutes, then find a reason to bring him here."

"What should I say if the guards ask me why I'm taking him?" Rollag's eyes shifted to Stafford and back to the Colonel.

"Tell them Stafford needs to adjust the meds he's been giving him or something. Just remember that your superior here has two guns on him." Hannibal's grim expression left no doubt he meant his orders to be obeyed to the letter.

Rollag numbly nodded his acknowledgment and walked to the laboratory door. Looking back once with concern for the doctor's safety, he disappeared into the hallway.

Stafford let out a frustrated sigh. "Jackson had your Captain in there a long time. Doesn't that worry you?"

Face glared at the doctor. "You don't know Murdock if you think he can be so easily manhandled. When we were in the POW camp he was in the interrogation hut for days at a time, came back to us so battered you'd think he'd been hit by a Mack truck. Pilots and officers always got it worse than anyone else. He never gave them good intelligence. When he finally cracked, it was things so obsolete and fake we couldn't believe they bought it."

"He cracked?" Stafford cocked his head.

"Almost every man who was interrogated as hard and often as we were did. You say just about anything, irrational, insane, anything but the truth, to get the pain to stop. I heard one guy told them the aircraft carriers had swimming pools on them that he was supposed to keep clean." Face swiped a hand across his eyes as if he were suddenly very tired. He gripped the M-16 tighter and focused his attention back on the man in front of him. "But it was only once. Nearly lost him to insanity when he came back that time. He thought he was a coward for giving them falsified information to stop the torture. If it wasn't for Hannibal talking to him, convincing him he wasn't a traitor, he would have let them kill him the next time he was taken."

Doctor Stafford frowned. "Jackson seems to believe Captain Murdock isn't as insane as he wants everyone to believe."

The Lieutenant stared hard at the scientist for a few moments before diverting his attention to the weapon in his hands. "Maybe he isn't now but when we first located him in the VA hospital . . . " Face let his words trail off before he shook his head. "Have you ever seen someone have to be restrained because if they weren't they would gouge their own eyes out? And that was _after_ they got him to respond to external stimuli, after _weeks_, maybe _months,_ of no response at all. He thought going blind would stop the memories from haunting him. It took weeks before they could trust him not to do serious harm to himself."

"If you're fugitives, how do you know all of this?" The doctor gazed down at the floor at his feet. He discovered with surprise a twinge of sympathy growing for the man in the next laboratory.

"Because we're the closest thing he has to real family. We found ways of keeping in touch, finding out information." Face gave Hannibal a quick glance. "I sometimes visited disguised as a doctor involved in research into veterans' mental health issues. I was there when he tried to tear out his own eyes. He didn't even recognize my voice." The Lieutenant closed his own eyes and shuddered with the memory. Keeping his weapon trained on the doctor, Hannibal reached over and gripped Face's shoulder in a reassuring gesture.

"So you see, Doc, we know how far Captain Murdock can be pushed before he reaches that point. The things Face and I have heard make us believe he's close to a full meltdown. If he gets that far, he _will_ destroy himself and anyone he's with." Hannibal's cool blue eyes crumbled the doctor's attempt at professional detachment.

Stafford thought about the military's insistence that the test subject be an institutionalized mental health patient with no family and few friends. He remembered Jackson's insistence upon Captain Murdock as the test subject even though patients could have been found nearer to the Granite Peak installation. He considered what he had seen of Jackson's apparent hatred for the test subject.

"My God. What have I done?" Stafford whispered.


	25. Chapter 25 Ain't Exactly Clear

Every Thought Captive

AN: The song Murdock has playing in his mind is Buffalo Springfield's "For What It's Worth." It came to be known as a Vietnam War protest song although Stephen Stills, the songwriter, originally wrote it as a observation about a conflict between law enforcement and youth on Sunset Strip.

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 25 Ain't Exactly Clear

"You did an _excellent_ job, Captain. Your country is grateful for your loyalty and service." Jackson clapped the test subject on the shoulder and gave him a pleased smile. Murdock sensed something disturbing behind the actions.

_What'd I give 'im that was so 'portant? He's lookin' at me like I'm the winnin' ticket in th' lottery._

"That was part o' th' mission? Those guys loadin' weapons inta those crates?" The pilot grimaced at the sheer intensity of his headache. He slipped one trembling hand over his closed eyes and took a deep breath.

_Don' 'member the pain bein' quite this bad when I did this b'fore._

"Yes. You remembered so much of your remote viewing training from years ago, I thought you were ready to become acquainted with the contents of the shipments you will be in charge of stopping."

Murdock nodded thoughtfully and scanned the Colonel's face for any hint of deception. Faint traces of Billy's warning echoed in his mind.

_Don' b'lieve 'im, brother. He lied t' you b'fore. _

The pain in his head muddled his thinking.

_Maybe I'm jus' 'maginin' Billy's voice. _

"Mister Nappler?" Jackson walked to the door and poked his head out. "Would you please take Captain Murdock to the dowsing room? He needs to interpret his remote viewing session. Then you may go back to Doctor Wendling."

Colonel Jackson placed his arm around Murdock's thin shoulders in a supportive manner. "Here. Let me help you."

The pilot slung his arm around the other man's waist as the military man lifted him to his feet. As Murdock staggered to a waiting wheelchair with Jackson's help he muttered, "Thanks. 'Preciate it."

He couldn't eliminate the nagging thought that this man who was helping him wasn't as concerned for his well-being as he was letting on.

_Mus' be my intermitten' memory loss comin' inta play. There's somethin' 'bout this guy I'm not 'memberin'. _

Nappler had him at the door of the dowsing room before he could give it much thought. Opening the door and backing him into the room, the lab assistant gave him an apprehensive look before hurrying down the hallway.

Jackson slid the sketch Murdock had done into his hands.

"Okay. You know the routine. Begin with your sketch, describe everything you saw and why you wrote the words you did. Write down your interpretation and I'll go see if I can find us a couple of cups of coffee. Maybe it'll take that headache down a notch or two." The Colonel paused until he saw the pilot begin to frown at the paper in his hand and write some words. Then he left the room.

Murdock let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. There was something about the man that left that was not quite right.

There was something wrong with his own head, too. He snorted at that thought.

_Been somethin' wrong with my head since b'fore Nam. Nam jus' made it a whole lot more wrong. How's it any diff'rent now? _

But there _was_ something wrong and it was causing him anxiety. For one thing, Billy usually talked to him much more than he was right now. Something was muffling Billy's voice, almost like his brain had been stuffed with straw and Billy was speaking from the middle of it.

Then there were the men that served with him in Nam. They were part of the initial things he had to do to complete Project Silent Arrow. If Jackson relayed what he was to do with them sometime during the session, he had forgotten that part of the plan.

All he knew for certain was that they could not be trusted. If they made contact with him ever again, he would have to be careful around them.

Turning his attention back to the paper in his hands, he sighed. A song was playing in his mind and its lyrics were unsettling because he sensed they applied to the current situation.

_There's somethin' happenin' here  
What it is ain't exactly clear  
There's a man with a gun, over there  
Tellin' me I got to beware_

_(I think it's time we)  
Stop, children, what's that sound?  
Everybody look - what's goin' down? _

oooooo

As he returned from the break room with two ceramic cups with steaming coffee in them, Jackson reflected on how much had been accomplished. He was well on the way to convincing Murdock to switch his allegiance from his fellow A-team members to him. He blocked some of the memories that had the potential to obstruct the mission. He implanted two sets of instructions for the pilot to follow when he left the facility.

If he wasn't concerned about the lasting power of the hypnotic suggestions he had placed, he would almost consider letting Murdock dispose of Cazador in some other way. But the wheels had been set in motion and all that was necessary was for the Captain's friends to help him escape. General Brandler had said he didn't want to know how Cazador was stopped and the weapons recovered, just that it was accomplished.

_Anything you say, Brandler. It may not be according to your time frame but it will be done before deadline. _

Jackson passed the door to Laboratory Two and paused to "read" whether the four men were still there. He frowned as he determined one of the occupants of the room had left.

_Which one? _

It required time to determine who it was and he sensed he did not have much more time. Thinking about it, he decided it would not really make much difference. Except for one or two minor instructions Murdock had to receive, the test subject was ready for his team mates to "rescue" him.

As he continued on to the dowsing room, Jackson directed his mind to the pilot. Detecting the words to the song haunting Murdock's thoughts, he smiled.

_I returned just in time. In the next half hour or so I have so much more to do and I can't have Murdock thinking those kinds of thoughts. _

He pushed open the door and smiled down at the troubled man in the wheelchair. "Here's your coffee. It's strong enough to jolt an elephant back to life, but it's coffee. Now what have you come up with?"

After handing the cup to Murdock, Jackson took a seat beside him.

_I'm less intimidating that way, more like a friend. _

He took a sip from his cup as the pilot began to explain his sketch and interpretation.

"So the notation you made here . . . " Jackson pointed to the string of numbers and letters. ". . . you believe refers to the site where the weapons are being stored and crated before loading on the chopper at the ranch?"

"I think if we looked on a map o' th' United States, we'd see it's th' latitude 'n' longitude of that place." Murdock nodded his agreement, then winced as the movement sent a jolt of almost electrical pain through his head.

_This is better than I expected. If he's right, Murdock has the exact location of Cazador's weapons storage site. Wouldn't take much to make that place disappear from the face of the Earth._

"Well, here's a map. Let's see what we've got." Jackson took out a map and put it in the pilot's hands. "Go ahead, Captain. It was your discovery. You should have the opportunity to see where this place is."

Murdock quickly scanned the map in front of him and ran his pointer finger along the coordinates. "Looks t' be somewhere in Arizona. Somewhere 'round Tucson, maybe Tombstone, area."

_Makes sense. Cazador has an office for his import business in Tucson. _

The Captain glanced at Jackson and took a sip of his coffee. "Ya weren' kiddin' 'bout that coffee, were ya?" He shuddered and put the cup down. "We need a USGS topographic map o' Arizona. Here, use th' coordinates t' find it."

The military man nodded curtly and took the paper with the numbers. Pulling the map Murdock required from the map file cabinet, he pressed it into the pilot's hands and waited.

"Th' Narrows, huh? Okay." The man in the wheelchair frowned at the map and tapped it with one finger. "Only place on this map looks like it could be where those weapons are is right here. Mine site called th' Total Wreck. Empire Mountains. Looks t' be seven 'r eight ranches in th' area." He set the map on a small table in front of him and ran a hand across his forehead and over his right eye. "Damn headache won' go 'way, Colonel."

"It's likely because we did two sessions today instead of one." Jackson patted Murdock on the shoulder. "But if I didn't think you could handle it I wouldn't have had you do two. I'll bring you back to your room to get some rest now. I've got a pair of ear buds and a small transistor radio you can use. Programmed to get only one station but it's soothing music and it should help you relax."

"Rest'd be real nice 'bout now. Maybe three aspirin, too? Maximum strength." The Captain squeezed his eyes shut and gripped the arms of the wheelchair as another piercing pain shot through his head.

"I'll see what I can dig up for you," Jackson murmured as he transported the pilot through the hallway to Room 27.

oooooo

Hannibal frowned at Doctor Stafford. "What do you mean 'What have I done?', Doc?"

Stafford paled slightly. This wasn't Jackson asking him the question. These two men would never know if he didn't tell them everything. Knowing what he did about Jackson and the goal of the project, he decided for his own safety, he needed to keep some things secret. No telling what these two or their big black friend would do to him if they knew.

But for the sake of preserving his test subject and the device he had implanted in his subject's brain, he wanted to cooperate as fully as he could. He had to find out what Jackson did during the session. Maybe he could reprogram the Captain to complete the mission without sacrificing himself if he got him away from Granite Peak. Then afterwards he could find a place where he could continue to develop the pilot into a first class espionage tool.

"Oh, nothing. I was just wishing Jackson wasn't involved in this project. He'll be the one that you have to stay away from if you want to get your friend out of here." Stafford gazed from one angry man to the other. "Remember I said he may have something against your friend? I now believe he wants your friend dead."

oooooo

"You can keep the ear buds and the radio if they help your headaches to go away. I remember how bad they can be." Jackson peered at Murdock as he settled his head back onto the pillow and threw one arm over his eyes to shut out the light. The pilot seemed to be trusting him a little more than he had before. "I'm going to see if I can run down those maximum strength aspirin for you, okay?"

Murdock nodded, his jaw clenched against the continuing throbbing pain.

"Lights on or off?"

"Off, if ya don' mind. Light seems t' be hurtin' my eyes somethin' fierce."

"Okay." Jackson flicked off the light switch, plunging the room into total darkness. "You're sure you don't need a little light?"

"Leave th' door open a crack 'n' I'll be jus' fine," Murdock mumbled.

The Colonel put the doorstop down to allow an inch crack of light from the hallway to enter the room.

He hesitated for a moment outside the door. When he was certain Murdock's thoughts were relaxing into a restful state and he was not thinking of escape, he disappeared into the next room.

In his pocket, he held the device that would test the neuroelectromagnetic implant. Waiting a few seconds until he sensed the pilot was asleep, he pressed the button and listened for the reaction he hoped would follow.


	26. Chapter 26 A Plan Comes Together

Every Thought Captive

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 26 A Plan Comes Together

Murdock woke to the sound of someone moaning. He wasn't sure who it was . . . _is it me? _. . . or where it originated but he sensed it was in the same dark place he was being held. Opening his eyes to slits, he saw long narrow bands of bright light. It didn't make sense that the light was in the shape of the top, bottom and side of a doorway. It was incongruous to where he thought he was.

_Musta forgot t' bow t' the Major. Or maybe Ferret trumped up somethin' 'gainst me, got me thrown in here. _

He was pretty certain he knew where "here" was. Before their escape from the camp, he had been tossed in there at least twice for anywhere from one to four days. He shared the narrow deep hole in the ground with rats, spiders, snakes and other inhabitants. A POW could last for only a couple of days in this solitary confinement "cell" before losing himself to delusions or despondency. He had experienced both.

_But I survived. _

He gauged his physical condition and found his heart to be racing. His body didn't ache as if he had been beaten, a fact which he thought strange. Violent beatings usually preceded solitary confinement. Tiny electrical shocks jolted his body and made the muscles in his arms and legs jerk uncontrollably. He lifted a twitching hand to claw at an itching bicep.

_Did th' Major give me th' shock treatment? Don' 'member. _

His ears began ringing, hurting deep inside. It was a sharp pain that made him cover them in defense. The sound creating the pain wasn't coming from his surroundings. He wondered if part of the interrogation involved punches to the sides of his head.

From somewhere inside his mind he felt an urgency to stand up and move toward the light he saw.

_Everythin' I ever heard said when ya move t'ward the light, it means yer dead. Am I? _

His hand brushed the small transistor radio clipped to the waistband of his pants. Letting his fingers trace the wire leading from it, he discovered the ear buds. Pulling them away didn't relieve the ringing so he put them back in. The music coming through them was the only calming thing about this whole situation. Maybe it would help him think.

His skin prickled with a tremendous itching feeling. His arms and legs still twitched with whatever electrical current that had been sent through them.

_Can' be dead if I'm this uncomfortable. _

He stood, wobbling a little, and stumbled toward the light. Reaching out, his hand contacted the smooth cool surface of a metal door. Puzzled, he pulled back for a second.

The impulse inside him urged him into the hallway. Temporarily blinded, he shielded his eyes until he could see his surroundings. He squinted at the white concrete block wall on either side of him, the gray-flecked off-white tiles at his feet and the white acoustic tile ceiling.

_Okay. So this ain' Nam. Pretty sure it ain' heaven 'r hell either. _

Confused, he let his mind direct his feet past the next room. Its door was slightly open. His destination lay somewhere among the labyrinth of corridors. As he staggered down the hall, he remembered Colonel Jackson's praise for his work on some project for which he had been tapped.

_Colonel Jackson! _

If he could talk to the Colonel, he would know what he was supposed to do next.

He paused at a door with a number two on it. Something or someone was waiting for him in this room. He sensed that much. He put his hand on the door knob and then pulled back again. Not knowing what was there made him overly cautious.

This was part of a plan that was being fed to him one step at a time. That was becoming more apparent to him with each passing moment. Maybe his intermittent memory loss was responsible for his failure to remember the long range goal.

_Wouldn' be the first time. _

Taking a breath to give himself courage, he opened the door and walked inside.

oooooo

Colonel Jackson kept his eye on the door of the room as he pressed the button. Seconds later he heard a sleepy moan coming from the next room. He smiled. The neuroelectromagnetic device was doing what it was supposed to do. The radio supplying the special tone triggered the set of instructions in Murdock's mind.

He preselected the flashback and the directions he had programmed into the ex-POW's brain but he wasn't prepared for Murdock's emotions of being trapped and frightened to be quite as strong as they were. Jackson had never been a POW himself. It was an unsettling feeling to experience the prisoner's dance around the edge of insanity as Murdock had struggled with it so many years before.

Movement from the next room alerted him to the test subject's actions. Jackson's eyes narrowed as the Captain passed the door without looking in.

Focusing on the pilot's mind, he made minor adjustments to his thought patterns. He would keep him in a state of confusion and paranoia but not terror.

_He has to see me as the person with the answers to his questions, the only one he can totally trust. But I won't make myself available to him until he is on the outside and ready for Cazador. _

He "followed" Murdock with his mind as he staggered down the hall and came to Laboratory Two.

_Now for my test subject to meet up with the men he thinks betrayed him. _

oooooo

Hannibal heard the footsteps hesitate outside the door. Only one set so it couldn't be Rollag returning with Murdock. He glanced at Face and noted a similar tension in his expression.

_Is it Jackson and his men coming to take us prisoner again? Are they searching all of the rooms? _

"Don't even think about warning whoever this is that we're here. Not yet," the Colonel growled at Doctor Stafford.

From the look on the scientist's face, he knew he wouldn't say anything. The doctor sat up straighter as the door opened.

Moments later Stafford shot them both a surprised glance. He cocked his head as he looked at the person who entered the room. "Captain Murdock?"

To Hannibal he muttered, "It's your friend, he's alone, but he seems disoriented."

"I 'member you. You're the doctor been workin' with Colonel Jackson."

_That's Murdock's voice but something doesn't seem right. _

Face made a move to get to his feet, relief reflected in his smile. A quick short back and forth shake of Hannibal's head halted him.

_Why is he alone? Did he escape again? _

The Lieutenant's smile disappeared, replaced by a puzzled frown.

"We don't know his state of mind," Hannibal whispered as softly as he could. With one hand he squeezed Face's arm to keep him in place.

"But it's Murdock," Face answered quietly. Still frowning, he obeyed and stayed where he was.

"Doc?" The pilot's voice was edged with suspicion. He cautiously approached the monitoring booth.

"Answer him," Hannibal mimed.

"Captain Murdock, how are you feeling?"

"Feeling?" He sounded as if he had not given it much thought. There was a long pause as if the pilot was assessing his condition. Finally in a forlorn voice, he said, "Confused."

"How can I help you be less confused?" Hannibal nodded his approval of the doctor's question.

_That's right. If he's confused he might be coming out of a flashback. We need to be careful. _

Murdock's tone reflected his weariness and internal struggle. "I . . . I don' know."

"If you were able to talk to your friends, would that help?" Doctor Stafford looked at Hannibal and Face briefly before standing up and taking a step toward the door of the monitoring room. The Colonel pointed his rifle at the Doctor, silently warning him to stop.

"Friends?"

"The men you transported over in Vietnam. Your team mates."

"They're here, ain' they."

_He doesn't sound very happy about that. _

Stafford nodded and glanced back at the two men. "They're here. They want me to help them get out of here with you."

The Colonel rose to his feet and gestured for Face to do the same.

Hannibal couldn't be sure but he thought he saw Murdock flinch at the sight of the weapons in their hands. The pilot backed up a step toward the door and seemed to be concentrating on something he heard in his own mind. He frowned with uncertainty and then scrutinized Hannibal as if making a decision about him.

Then he straightened and gave the older man a sharp salute. "Colonel Smith, suh."

Hannibal analyzed Murdock's formal military address and posture before acknowledging the salute and speaking. "At ease, Captain."

Even when they were all together in Nam, Murdock did not hold to rigid formality when he was working with the team. When there was need for it, he did, but not all the time. Hannibal didn't mind as long as the pilot didn't get them injured or killed. And as long as he obeyed his orders.

_Something is very wrong. _

"Murdock, buddy, we're going to get you out of here. Did they hurt you in any way?" Face kept his rifle trained on the doctor while edging toward his friend. He gave the jittery pilot a welcoming smile.

Murdock's eyes darkened as his gaze flickered across the other man's expression. "I'm fine, Lieutenant. Jus' fine. If Doc here can give me somethin' for this headache, I'll be right as rain." He twitched his arm away as Face reached over to pat him on the shoulder.

Face gave the Colonel a worried look and took a step away to allow the pilot some room. "Just checking."

_That's not right either. The sooner we can get out of here and have the doctor undo whatever's been done, the better._

The Captain had a small transistor radio clipped to a pair of black pants similar to what they wore in the POW camp. He had only one ear bud in. The other dangled down in front of him. Hannibal noted the gauze bandages on the Captain's exposed chest, above his ear and encircling his wrists and ankles. He _had_ been injured. While it wasn't unusual for Murdock to be close-mouthed about any pain he felt, he still seemed very distant.

_He knows who we are but he doesn't trust us. _

"How d' we do this?" The pilot trained his attention on the men with the weapons. His tone suggested he wasn't pleased to be leaving with them but was resigned to doing it. "Gonna be a hard sell t' get me dressed like a POW and you guys outta here without someone askin' questions. 'Less ya march us out like hostages."

"That may be the only way until we can get to a jeep," Face murmured to the Colonel.

Hannibal nodded his agreement.

_Not the way I want to get Murdock away from this place, especially if he's already uncertain of us for whatever reason, but maybe the only safe way for all of us. _

"If it gets us out of here. Okay. Hands up and behind your heads. Face, you take the doctor and I'll take Murdock." The Colonel moved up behind the pilot and lightly pressed the barrel of the gun into the small of his back. He noticed Murdock's body tense as he clasped his hands together behind his neck and realized with gut-felt regret that he wasn't playacting.

"Relax, Captain," he whispered. "You know I'm not going to hurt you."

"Do I?" Murdock responded as Hannibal and he followed Face and the doctor out of the laboratory.

The corridor was completely deserted. The foursome made their way out of the double doors and to a jeep outside without meeting a single guard. That made the Colonel extremely suspicious.

"Get under the tarp in the back and I'll ride up front with Stafford." Hannibal got in the passenger's front seat and motioned for the doctor to start the vehicle. As soon as Murdock and Face were completely hidden, they took off.

For once the Colonel didn't feel like saying "I love it when a plan comes together" because he wasn't certain it was _his _plan that was being implemented.

There was no way of knowing whether his suspicions had a basis in reality until he had an opportunity to debrief Murdock on what had happened while he was held at Granite Peak.

_But does he know anything about it? And will he tell me if he does? _


	27. Chapter 27 Reunion

Every Thought Captive

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 27 Reunion

As soon as they were a discreet distance from the main gate to the Granite Peak installation, both Face and Murdock emerged from under the canvas tarp.

The pilot slipped all the way to the right hand side of the back seat and clasped his hands together tightly in his lap. The small transistor radio was still hooked onto the waistband of his black pants but the ear buds had fallen from his ears and the wires were draped around his neck. He seemed to be unaware it had happened.

"Turn in here, Doc. We have to pick up Face's rental car." Hannibal pointed at the dirt road to their left, then glanced back at the two men.

"God, it's good to have you back with us, buddy." Face reached over to place his hand on the pilot's shoulder. Murdock gave the Lieutenant a smoldering glare and a curt nod.

In stony silence, he squinted off into the distance, turning his face away from all of them. His jaw muscles twitched with hidden restrained emotion.

The Lieutenant removed his hand and shrugged at Hannibal. The older man shook his head, not knowing what to say.

_Whatever these slimeballs did to you, Captain, we're going to make sure they return you to normal and pay for what they did. I promise you that. _

Hannibal guided the doctor to drive beyond the convertible and turn around before stopping the jeep beside the other vehicle. The Colonel turned in his seat to look at Murdock directly while he spoke to the Lieutenant. "Face, you and Murdock follow us in the rental."

The pilot's eyes remained fixed on the distant scrub brush and rugged terrain, his expression impassive. Face glanced over at his mute friend and sighed in frustration.

Noting Murdock's detached attitude and the other man's reaction, Hannibal elaborated on his orders. "Being you left the keys with B. A. for safekeeping, you'll have to hot-wire the car, Face. Why don't you see if you can help him, Captain?"

Murdock swallowed hard with the mention of B. A.'s name. For a few intense seconds, the pilot focused on the older man in front of him. The suspicion and hostility expressed in those dark eyes caught Hannibal off guard.

Noticing the look which passed between the two, Face gave them both a hesitant smile. "That's alright. I guess I don't need any help. If I don't know by now how to hot-wire a car, you can kick me off the team, Colonel." The Lieutenant stepped out of the jeep and popped the hood on the other vehicle.

After a moment's hesitation, Murdock climbed out and transferred over to the front passenger's seat of the convertible. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back as if to fall asleep. Wrapping his arms around himself and over his bare chest, he tried to prevent his muscles from twitching but couldn't.

_He isn't shivering from the cold. It feels like it's in the 80s out here. It looks more like the after-effects of electroshock therapy. _

As Hannibal watched, the pilot gave up attempting to control his spasming muscles and peered at the military vehicle where the two other men waited. When he caught the Colonel looking at him, he frowned and slid lower in the seat, propping his knees against the dashboard.

_It's as if he's trying to avoid contact with us as much as possible. _

In a low mutter, the Colonel addressed Stafford. "I think you're going to have to let us in on the specifics of what this project involves. That is not normal behavior for him."

"I told you. Colonel Jackson's session with him changed him from a man with loyalties to his team to a man with a mission to accomplish. It's likely the Colonel programmed him to ignore distractions and focus on his new job." The doctor stared at his test subject and gripped the steering wheel tighter.

"Would that explain why we seemed to have no problem extracting him from Granite Peak just now and making our escape?" Hannibal's nerves were like a taut string. Just the fact that they had encountered no resistance and seemed to pass through the main gate with no suspicions raised worried him.

_It's almost as if this Colonel Jackson finished whatever he wanted to do to Murdock and set up the escape himself. _

"I'm not sure. I thought there was at least another week's worth of work we had to do to prepare Captain Murdock for his assignment." Stafford frowned and started the jeep as the Lieutenant slammed the car hood and gave the two men a pleased grin and an "A-OK" salute.

The man in the passenger's seat startled with the sound. The jolt sent a shudder through his entire body.

Seeing the reaction, Face got behind the wheel of the rental and smiled sympathetically across at Murdock. He patted him on the knee and said something the Colonel didn't hear. He got no verbal response. Instead, the pilot cringed, shifting his trembling body closer to the passenger's side door.

Hannibal watched the interaction between Face and Murdock carefully, unable to shake the growing realization that somehow the pilot was convinced they were all his enemies.

The Lieutenant got the car turned around and followed the jeep out onto the secondary road leading into Granite Peak. Within minutes, both vehicles pulled up to the black van.

The Colonel escorted the reluctant doctor to the van and placed him in the back seat. Shutting the side door on their prisoner, he waited for Face to park the car and shut off the engine.

Amy scrambled from the seat Hannibal usually occupied. Her relief at seeing Face again was apparent by the way she rushed toward the rental car even before he had it fully parked. As soon as he left the driver's seat, her arms were around him, her head resting against his chest.

"I should be captured and escape more often," he joked. He held her closely and kissed the top of her head.

"Don't you dare," she mumbled, letting his embrace melt away all the concern of the past few hours. Face put his hand up to stroke her hair and found the area of matted blood. Grimacing, he lowered his hand and massaged her back instead. He cast a serious glance at Hannibal as the Colonel removed a cigar and prepared to light it, then strolled over to the car.

"Has our Captain said anything to you since we got in the jeep and left Granite Peak?" The Colonel turned his back on the passenger in the rental car and flashed concerned blue eyes on Face. His voice was a low mutter, meant for only the Lieutenant to hear.

"Not a word, Hannibal. It's not like I haven't tried to get a response. It's almost like he's possessed." Face allowed his worry and disappointment to show. He ran a hand over his hair, not noticing when a strand fell back out of place.

Amy looked from one man to the other. "Maybe if I tried? They took both of us in the middle of a mission, remember?"

Before either man could respond, she pulled away and gazed in at the pilot. "Hey, Murdock," she murmured. "Are you alright?"

For a few seconds, Hannibal noticed a look of confusion as the pilot frowned at her pallid face without speaking.

_It's like he doesn't know she's been helping us, like he doesn't know who she is. _

Murdock closed his eyes as if to listen to an internal voice and leaned his head back on the seat again. This time a small whimper escaped from deep inside. He gripped his right knee as if he was feeling fresh pain in the old war-injured knee joint.

Amy gazed at Face, silent questions in her expression. The Lieutenant shook his head and ushered her into the front seat of the rental to sit between Murdock and himself. "Keep talking to him. At least you got a response. Any response is better than no response."

Even as she slid over beside him, she felt his muscles tense up. She gave Face another questioning look as he walked over to B. A. to retrieve the keys.

"Murdock . . . " she started.

"What's wrong with th' fool?" B. A.'s voice boomed from the driver's seat of the van.

The gruff tone seemed to set off another round of shudders. The pilot abruptly opened the car door and limped toward a clump of bottle brush.

With each step, he begged for mercy. "Tôi không có gì để cho bạn biết. Không làm tổn thương tôi. (I have nothing to tell you. Don't hurt me.)" He gasped out the last words and bowed his head, his back turned to them. None of them could see his face or decipher his words but they didn't have to. The tone of his voice was the tone of a POW when he had taken one beating too many.

He folded his arms tightly around his abdomen, hugging himself in what they all recognized as a defensive gesture. It was something he did only rarely anymore. Hannibal grimaced at the thought of where their friend's mind might be.

_He used to do that when the guards came to drag him away to be interrogated. _

"Không làm tổn thương tôi. (Don't hurt me.)" Swaying back and forth, clutching himself tighter, he repeated the same words over and over under his breath.

B. A. left the van and stood beside the driver's door, watching and wondering what he had done to provoke the pilot. Hannibal and Face were frozen in place, recognizing what was going on but not sure how to handle a hostile distrusting Murdock.

_If Face or I make a move, will he run? Or will he turn on us and try to fight? _

When none of the others responded, Amy left the car and approached him cautiously, reaching with one hand to touch him on his upper arm.

"Amy!" The Colonel hissed out a warning but he was too late.

She showed no signs of having heard him. Her entire focus was on her hurting friend. "Whatever happened to you back there, we're here for you. You know that, don't you? We'll see you through it, no matter what it is."

Her soothing low voice, such a contrast to the one that set off the reaction, seemed to be reaching him. She felt him flinch and then relax as her fingertips touched his bicep.

Standing so close to him, she tried not to stare at the criss-crossing scars that made the skin of his back almost like a road map of silvery-white lines. She winced, knowing how the scars got there and who had inflicted the wounds that caused them. She realized the others had their own scarred record from the prison camp but until now she had only seen those that Face let her see of his own.

"Please, Murdock? Come back to the car and sit down. B. A. made sure to get out clean clothes and your jacket for when you got back here." There it was again. The shudder when B. A.'s name was mentioned. Both Amy and Hannibal saw it.

_What the hell did Jackson do to his brain? _

Hannibal slowly approached but remained far enough away as not to seem a threat. "Captain, we have to move. Colonel Lynch will be showing up fairly soon and we have to put some distance between ourselves and this installation."

The muscles trembled again under Amy's hand at the sound of the Colonel's voice. "Shhh," she soothed, gently caressing his arm with her hand. "Whatever it is, we'll get through it."

She darted a quick warning glance at Hannibal and Face as the pilot allowed her to slip her arm around his waist and give him a comforting sideways hug.

Hannibal kept his guard up in case any of Amy's actions provoked a violent reaction. He had to admit that for now she seemed to be the only one who elicited more than hostile glares or detached aloofness.

_Whatever you're doing, kid, keep on doing it._

Amy turned him around toward the car with seemingly little effort. His body sagged against her and his head drooped. It was as though all of the tension of his fight-or-flight response had left him.

"There now. Let's go sit down and you can get some rest." Amy helped him into the front seat and got in beside him. As soon as she closed the door he laid his head on her shoulder and closed his eyes.

"So tired," he mumbled. She pulled him closer like he was a sleepy child in her arms and rested her chin on the top of his head.

Moments later he turned his face to gaze into her eyes. His whisper was so quiet she could barely hear it. "Sky? Tôi sẽ không cho phép họ làm tổn thương bạn bao giờ trở lại. (I won't let them hurt you ever again.)"

"Shhhh. Rest now," she murmured as she stroked his cheek.

Face got in behind the wheel and Hannibal took his seat in the van. The A-team and the hostage doctor moved out toward their base camp at Simpson Springs.


	28. Chapter 28 Battlefield of the Mind

Every Thought Captive

AN: This chapter is very long and I apologize ahead of time for it. I wanted to show you what was going through Murdock's mind in the previous two chapters and maybe explain why he is acting the way he is.

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 28 Battlefield of the Mind

From the moment Murdock entered Laboratory Two, he knew he would soon be leaving the Granite Peak installation. It was one of those gut feelings. He didn't know with whom or how he would leave. Just that his time here was at an end and he was ready for the mission Jackson and the United States government wanted him to accomplish.

A man in a white lab coat watched him from the tiny monitoring room. He sat up as if surprised to see him and glanced at something on the floor out of view.

"Captain Murdock?"

The man said something more, his words directed to the floor. Every nerve prickled as the pilot recognized two things.

_That's the doc that's been workin' to help Jackson prepare me for th' mission. 'N' he ain' 'lone. I got a bad feelin' 'bout this. _

He had to say something to prevent the doctor from being killed by whoever was hiding under the table in the monitoring room.

"I 'member you. You're the doctor been workin' with Colonel Jackson." It was the first thing that came to his mind.

_Well, it's a start. Maybe if I act confused, I can somehow confuse whoever's holdin' the doc hostage, too. Then rescue th' doc through th' element o' surprise. It's worked b'fore. _

"Doc?" He slowly approached the door to the booth, making his voice sound as near to being disoriented as he could manage.

"Captain Murdock, how are you feeling?" The doctor stared directly at him, scanning him for further mental distress or injury. He wished he could reassure the man that he was not as unstable as he had to make himself appear.

_Th' Company was good at teachin' me how t' keep the enemy off guard. _

"Feeling?" He paused and thought about that for a moment for extra effect. "Confused."

_Ain' th' truth though. I never been so clear as I am right now. _

"How can I help you be less confused?"

_But I guess I'm convincin' th' doc. I gotta get th' guy whose holdin' 'im flushed outta 'is hidey hole 'n' inta th' open. _

He kept the confusion in his tone. He was beginning to feel weary from the double remote viewing sessions and this act he had to put on. "I . . . I don' know."

"If you were able to talk to your friends, would that help?" The scientist glanced down at his captor once more before rising to his feet and taking a step toward the door.

_Aha! I knew it. They're here 'n' they're threatenin' my doctor. Jackson tol' me 'bout 'em. Peeled back my mind 'n' showed me th' memories I'd forgotten. All those things that didn' add up 'til he showed me. _

"Friends?"

_Must be Colonel Smith 'n' Lieutenant Peck. Couldn' pry Baracus inta that small space with a crowbar 'n' ten pounds o' butter. _

"The men you transported over in Vietnam. Your team mates."

_As if I didn' know that. But team mates? After what they did, the stuff they tol' Trình so I'd be taken 'stead o' them, leavin' me t' rot in Nam 'n' then in that psych ward? Shit, no. _

But he had to keep up the pretense. "They're here, ain' they."

Stafford nodded. He continually looked down at the floor under the monitoring table. "They're here. They want me to help them get out of here with you."

_Yeah, I bet they do. _

The two men rose to their feet from their hiding place in the monitoring booth. He knew they were armed but with M-16s?

_Those can do a heckuva lotta damage t' me 'n' the doc if I don' cooperate. _

All thoughts of getting away from them disappeared.

_How could I o' been so stupid? _

He wished Colonel Jackson had set a guard outside his room to prevent him from walking into this situation.

A voice whispered in his mind. It was so soft he stepped back toward the door and focused on it instead of the scene in front of him. If he was lucky, it would be Jackson, letting him know what he should do next. But it was Billy. In the past, he always trusted Billy to speak the truth. Billy was in Heaven and those in Heaven weren't supposed to lie.

_Hannibal 'n' Face're yer friends, yer good friends, big brother. They ain' gonna hurt nobody that doesn' deserve it. _

On the tail end of that message came another, this time in Jackson's voice. _If those two men are such good friends, why did they do what they did and why are they holding those rifles on you? _

Now he _was _becoming confused. He analyzed the Colonel from a distance, trying to balance what the two voices told him. Billy had never been wrong before but Jackson had hand-selected him for this important project and these two men stood in the way of it.

_'N' my head feels like it's gonna 'splode. _

Until he could get rid of the migraine and think things through, he would have to go with Jackson's instructions and his own military training. He drew himself up to attention, back straight, feet side by side, face forward, eyes focused ahead. He gave the Colonel his sharpest salute and waited for his response. "Colonel Smith, suh."

The older man in front of him seemed to scrutinize him before releasing him from the formal posture. "At ease, Captain."

He sensed Lieutenant Peck's approach and stiffened again but this time because of the memories of betrayal.

"Murdock, buddy, we're going to get you out of here. Did they hurt you in any way?"

Through the ear bud still in his right ear, the pilot heard the tranquil but melancholy strains of the second movement of Prokofiev's _Lieutenant Kijé _suite. At the same time, Jackson's voice warned, _This man's a manipulator. Remember all the times he used you to get something in return? All the times he got you in trouble with something he did? _

And this man had the balls to pretend concern and flash him a smile? As if Peck's nearness was responsible, the pain in his head sharpened.

He gave the Lieutenant a suspicious glance and pulled his arm away from his grasp. "I'm fine, Lieutenant. Jus' fine. If Doc here can give me somethin' for this headache, I'll be right as rain."

When the other man stepped away and muttered, "Just checking," he relaxed again.

Jackson sent another telepathic order to him. _Go with them. There will be no road blocks. When you get to Las Vegas, I'll give you your next set of instructions._

He wasn't comfortable being with these men. At least the doctor was there to help him if they tried to detract him from his job.

Jackson's voice reassured him. _I won't be with you physically but I will be with you in thought. If they start to try to brainwash you, I'll give you mental support. Trust me. _

Murdock brought his attention back to the two men with the weapons. He had to go through with this so he might as well offer himself up as a sacrifice to the cause.

"How d' we do this? Gonna be a hard sell t' get _me_ dressed like a POW and _you guys_ outta here without someone askin' questions. 'Less ya march us out like hostages."

_Which we are, no matter what ya say t' deny it. _

The Colonel and Lieutenant spoke quietly to each other and came to a decision.

"If it gets us out of here. Okay. Hands up and behind your heads. Face, you take the doctor and I'll take Murdock."

The Captain felt the Colonel's gun barrel in the small of his back and panicked for a brief moment. He couldn't stop his muscles from tensing as he obeyed his captor's orders.

_Would he? Would he shoot me if I tried anythin' t' 'scape?_

"Relax, Captain," the Colonel whispered. "You know I'm not going to hurt you."

"Do I?" Murdock swallowed as he was led out into the corridor after Peck and Stafford.

The bright images were starting their own slide show in his mind again. The picture they painted of these two men was a mixed bag of betrayal and comaraderie and Murdock couldn't figure out which images to trust. His mind was a battlefield and he desperately needed a stop in the action to sort things out.

He was barely aware of his feet shuffling toward the double doors of the facility as intent upon his headache and thoughts as he was. Then they were standing beside a jeep and the Colonel gave another order.

"Get under the tarp in the back and I'll ride up front with Stafford."

Peck lifted the canvas and gestured for him to duck under it first. He would have to spend several minutes in close proximity to this man. Deciding to make the best of it, he curled up close behind the front passenger's seat. He shivered as Peck hid behind the driver's side seat and dragged the tarp over both of them.

"Not the most comfortable way to leave but we'll get you out of here, buddy." Peck muttered the assurance to him as the engine started. He felt the Lieutenant pat him on his back and shrank from the touch.

The darkness made the image slide show in his mind increase in speed until he thought he would go crazy with the memories that bombarded him.

After a short stop and a few muffled words passed back and forth between the sentry at the gate and the doctor, Murdock knew they left the facility behind them. He waited for Peck to lift the tarp off them.

As soon as he did, the Captain claimed the extreme right hand side of the back bench seat and kept his hands from twitching by holding them tightly in his lap. He stared at the terrain on his right with the cold impassive expression of a CIA operative.

He tried again to reconcile the words Billy and Jackson had projected to his mind back in the laboratory. The voices were still clamoring for attention in his head.

He didn't notice exactly when the doctor pulled off the road they were on until the Lieutenant placed his hand on his shoulder and said, "God, it's good to have you back with us, buddy."

_Is it? Whaddya wanna scam off o' me this time, Peck? _

He forced himself to acknowledge the gesture with a nod and eye contact and then returned to scan the distant horizon.

The jeep stopped beside a red convertible parked on the side road they were following.

_What now? Shoot th' two o' us out here in th' middle o' nowhere? _

Smith gave Peck an order but Murdock sensed the icy blue eyes were focused on him. The command was not directed to him so he ignored it completely.

He heard Peck's frustrated sigh and then the Colonel spoke to both of them. "Being you left the keys with B. A. for safekeeping, you'll have to hot-wire the car, Face. Why don't you see if you can help him, Captain?"

_Baracus is somewhere out here? Th' guy that's said he's gonna kill me someday? Bad 'nough I'm gonna hafta watch my back with these two. Now I gotta watch out for th' Big Guy. _

He swallowed hard at the mental images that swirled in his brain. B. A.'s fist connecting with his jaw beside a stream. The blow was hard enough to knock him out for quite some time. B. A. tossing him off a boat into the water. B. A.'s hands curling around his neck any number of times. The fingers cutting off his breath, not quite achieving their desired purpose before the Sergeant was forced to release him.

_I still provided a valu'ble 'nough service t' these other two that they always stopped 'im from goin' through with it. But what if I ain' useful no more? What then? _

He focused his disturbed gaze on the Colonel.

_I trusted you 'n' you left me t' rot 'til ya needed me t' do somethin' for ya. _

As the images Jackson had shown him loomed in his mind, he found his hostility toward this man growing. He could see from the Colonel's eyes that he realized it.

Then Peck spoke and broke the impasse. "That's alright. I guess I don't need any help. If I don't know by now how to hot-wire a car, you can kick me off the team, Colonel."

_But he won't. Kick me off th' team fer bein' crazy sooner 'n he'd kick you off fer forgettin' how t' hot-wire a car. _

Murdock waited a few moments after the Lieutenant set to work on the engine before climbing out of the jeep. The front seat of the car was a fairly private place, especially if he shut his eyes and pretended to sleep. Maybe then they would leave him alone for a while to think.

As he leaned his head back against the seat, he felt his arms and legs spasming. Clutching his arms around his upper abdomen didn't work. The tremors continued.

_Damned muscles won' settle down. Side 'ffects of the mind stuff I been doin'. _

He sensed someone watching his disturbed rest and looked over at the jeep. It was as he expected.

_Colonel Smith's gonna keep a close watch on me, keep me from doin' what I gotta do. _

Slipping down in the seat, curling his spine and letting the dashboard be a prop for his knees, he tried to avoid Smith's scrutiny. He stared straight ahead at the rental car hood. The doctor and the Colonel were talking to each other in a low mumble that he could not clearly hear. He wished Colonel Jackson had taken the time to teach him how to read what others were thinking when they weren't actively projecting their thoughts his way.

_Sure would be useful 'bout now. _

He knew they were talking about him.

While focusing his attention on trying to pick up the soft conversation, he jerked when the Lieutenant shut the car hood with a bang. The effect was like one of a large rock being dropped on a smooth water surface, sending huge shudders through his body.

_Nerves're real jumpy since the las' session. _

The doctor started the jeep engine and Peck slid into the driver's seat of the rental. He smiled and patted Murdock on the knee, his touch making the shudders diminish into shivers that continued to bother him. Peck's words were no more reassuring than his action had been.

"It's okay. Pretty soon we'll meet up with B. A. and Amy and we'll start back to L. A."

_Amy? What's she doin' out here middle o' nowhere? 'Less they took her hostage, too. _

He spent the rest of the short journey to the road where the black van was parked in attempting to remember. Conflicting images battered his mind again. In one, Amy dangled limply between two ski-masked men in a stairwell. In another, the three men who said they were his friends had Amy in a sparsely furnished room. Her eyes were wide with the terror of knowing she could die soon.

_But did they threaten her? God, I don' know what's real 'n' what ain' anymore. Maybe Amy'll be able t' tell me. If they let 'er. _

His thoughts were so jumbled he didn't recognize the two vehicles had stopped. He stared out at the scenery of the desert on his right. Jackson's brash voice competed with Billy's softer whisper and both mingled with images that didn't make sense taken all together.

_I'm goin' crazy. After all these years of gettin' well, then fakin' a li'l, I'm 'bout t' totally lose it. 'N' I can't stop it. _

"Hey, Murdock. Are you alright?" He had focused so much on the battle going on for his sanity that he hadn't noticed where the others were. When he looked up at the woman peering in at him, worry on her pretty face, he wasn't sure who he was seeing.

The face shifted from one with red hair and hazel eyes to brunette with Amy's features to a Vietnamese girl with youthful beauty.

_Cyndy, Amy 'r Sky. I don' know who I'm lookin' at. _

He closed his eyes and laid his head back to get his bearings.

Jackson's voice assisted him in identifying her. _Sky has come to help your knee feel better. You remember how your knee got injured, don't you? _

How could he forget? The POW camp guards threw him to the ground. Someone said something to make them angry. Was it him? Colonel Smith had been there right beside him. Did the Colonel say something?

In any event, he was the one punished. It took so little effort to force him down as malnourished as he was. And the raining blows from the rifle butts kept him down. His right knee swelled to twice its normal size after that beating.

It all came back as a flashback so real he was left clutching his knee with the pain he felt. A small whimper came out despite his effort to hold it in.

Someone slipped into the spot beside him, touching him lightly with one hand. Not knowing who it was, he readied himself to either run or fight.

Then he heard it. The voice that had threatened him so many times before with violence.

"What's wrong with th' fool?"

His trembling increased and he stumbled out of the car. He couldn't move very fast with his right knee hurting so badly.

_He's comin' after me. He's gonna really do it this time. Or is it Ferret? I don' know anymore. Oh God, I don' know anymore! _

"Tôi không có gì để cho bạn biết. Không làm tổn thương tôi. (I have nothing to tell you. Don't hurt me.)"

Wrapping his arms around his abdomen as tightly as he could to protect his organs against the beating, he bowed his head in an attempt to appease whoever it was that wanted to see him suffer.

"Không làm tổn thương tôi. (Don't hurt me.)" He kept his voice soft so he could not be accused of yelling at the guards. Maybe the beating would be light.

_But light ain' light when it comes t' the VC or the NVA, is it? _

For several seconds he swayed, repeating the words over and over, begging for mercy.

Fingertips, non-calloused and gentle, touched his upper arm. He flinched at first, then relaxed as the fingers stroked his arm lightly. At the same time, a quiet feminine voice soothed, "Whatever happened to you back there, we're here for you. You know that, don't you? We'll see you through it, no matter what it is."

Her voice was familiar. She was speaking English but not the broken English he had taught Sky.

"Please, Murdock? Come back to the car and sit down. B. A. made sure to get out clean clothes and your jacket for when you got back here."

He shuddered.

_B. A.'s waitin' fer me. He's got my jacket, prob'ly my cap, too. What's he gonna do? Give me what's mine jus' 'fore he beats me t' a bloody pulp? _

Jackson's voice again. _He's just waiting for the opportunity to do it. Remember what I showed you. _

Almost as soon as Jackson's voice stopped another voice intruded.

"Captain, we have to move. Colonel Lynch will be showing up fairly soon and we have to put some distance between ourselves and this installation."

It was the Colonel and he sounded impatient. He shivered again at the tone Smith was using.

He almost didn't hear the woman's voice respond to his fear or feel her soft caress on his arm. "Shhh. Whatever it is, we'll get through it." He focused on what he thought the team might do to him.

_He's gonna leave me out here t' die if I don' go with 'em. What should I do, Colonel Jackson, sir?_

He hoped Jackson heard his telepathic cry for help.

_Stay out of the Sergeant's way until you get to Las Vegas. Let them get you that far and I'll rescue you from them. _

The female put her arm around his waist. He felt her gently squeeze him to herself in a comforting hug, then turn him around to go back the way he came. He was almost relieved when she said, "There now. Let's go sit down and you can get some rest."

He realized she struggled to support his weight as she guided him to his seat. He couldn't help it. The energy of a few moments before when fear of Baracus and the camp guards made him limp away left him as suddenly as it came. He could barely keep his eyes open.

He let her help him to sit down and relaxed against her when she sat beside him. No longer needing to watch for danger, he let his eyes droop and close.

"So tired."

Her arms hugged him to herself and her chin rested on the top of his head. It was so much like what Cyndy used to do when she found him after one of Pa's beatings that he got confused again. He had to exert the effort to turn and see if it _was_ her.

It wasn't.

_How'd I manage t' get Sky t' my hooch? She looks so pale. Someone's gotta o' hurt her. But who? _

"Sky? Tôi sẽ không cho phép họ làm tổn thương bạn bao giờ trở lại. (I won't let them hurt you ever again.)"

_Ya gotta b'lieve me, sweetie. Jus' gotta get some energy back. _

"Shhhh. Rest now." Her delicate touch on his cheek and her comforting words lulled him to a semi-restless sleep. He wasn't even aware when the Lieutenant started the engine and followed the van to the A-team base camp at Simpson Springs.

oooooo

As the A-team pilot rested, Colonel Jackson took leave of the Granite Peak facility by way of chopper and headed to Las Vegas.

_Damn that Stafford for not getting rid of that female reporter! But as long as I can supply Murdock with false memories and make him think he sees that dead Vietnamese girl, I should be able to convince him to accomplish the next part of the plan. _

Jackson leaned back and spied the black van and red rental car on the road to Simpson Springs. He smiled to himself.

The key was to sleep when Murdock slept and monitor his thoughts while he was awake. Soon no one would be able to stop the Captain from taking care of Cazador and the weapons shipment. No one at all.


	29. Chapter 29 Whiskey and Smoke

Every Thought Captive

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 29 Whiskey and Smoke

"B. A., Face, take a walk with me. We need to talk."

Murdock heard Hannibal issue the order and watched from the front seat of the rental. The three men left the campsite and moved toward a water spigot a couple of sites away where they engaged in a very quiet private conversation.

Though his head still rested on Sky's shoulder, Murdock's eyes were halfway open. Sky herself had fallen asleep still holding him in her arms, with her cheek resting on the top of his head.

The Colonel glanced his way, his expression unreadable.

_Is he concerned 'bout me or jus' checkin' up t' make sure I ain' gonna run 'way now that we're stopped? _

He could not be certain the older man noticed he was awake. Murdock felt a strange surge of jealousy sweep through him at the camaraderie he observed among the three men.

_Always wondered how many times th' three o' you got t'gether on th' outside fer somethin' other 'n a mission. I was always on th' outside lookin' in. Or is that th' inside lookin' out? Guess it was easy fer ya'll t' think I was so crazy I wouldn' notice. _

He didn't want to wake Sky. If her exhaustion was any indication, she had been through quite a bit of emotional turmoil already. She needed her rest.

He carefully slid out from her light comforting hug, laying her across the bench seat of the car. Bending over her for a second, he kissed her forehead and stroked his thumb across her cheek.

When she stirred restlessly, he murmured, "Shhh. It's okay, sweetie. Ya go back t' sleep. I gotta talk t' someone for a spell."

_Doc may know more 'bout what Jackson has planned. I gotta find out. _

He peered at her face as the Oriental features changed and shifted into those of another woman he knew. He rubbed his eyes and looked again. It was Amy, the Lieutenant's girl. Then the features changed back again and he saw Sky. The delusion he just witnessed had him shaken and wondering what was real and what wasn't.

_Is it Amy or Sky? What's goin' on with me? _

Sitting at a rust red wooden picnic table, the doctor nervously watched the other men and mopped his face with a white handkerchief. As soon as he was sure the young woman was deep in sleep again, Murdock left the vehicle and made his way over to the scientist.

Sitting down and bending his elbows to prop himself against the picnic table top, he gave the doctor a sideways glance. "They don' seem t' be worried 'bout you 'n' me runnin' 'way. Why dya think that is?"

Stafford shook his head and stared down at the ground.

_C'mon Doc. Ya know more than yer lettin' on. Spill it. _

Murdock leaned close to the scientist. He kept his voice as low as he could. "Colonel Jackson's gonna meet us in Las Vegas. We ain' gonna be hostages much longer. Thought ya should know so ya won' be su'prised when it happens."

"Oh?" The doctor seemed to absorb the information with little enthusiasm. He patted down the pockets of his lab coat and pulled out a half-empty pack of Marlboros and a book of matches. Removing one, he offered the pack to Murdock. "Want one?"

The pilot hesitated. A bright image came into his mind. He was alone, lying on his back atop the wall of sandbags surrounding the canvas tent that served as a hootch. The air inside had become too stifling between the tropical heat and the tension of trying too hard to make friends with the members of Hannibal's unit.

He had watched the smoke from his cigarette curl upward until it diffused into the darkening sky above and listened. Listening to the conversation and laughter of the men inside the hootch, he knew he didn't fit in. Not really. One voice especially sorted itself out from the others: the deep rumble of Sergeant Baracus.

"Man's a crazy fool. Gonna get us all killed someday wit' his stunt flyin'. An' I'm gonna squish 'im like a grape, he chatters at me with that fool jibber-jabber anymore t'day."

And no one responded to that threat. At least not that he could hear. He kept to himself for the rest of the day and on into the night based on the Sergeant's words.

Murdock stared at the doctor's half-gone pack of cigarettes, shook one out into trembling fingers, returned the rest with a "thanks." Placing it between his lips, he accepted the matchbook. He tore off a match and scraped it against the striker. Gazing intently at the orange flame for a second, he applied it to the tip and drew in a breath. He blew out the match with his exhalation and tossed it to the ground.

_I smoked over in Nam. _

Sometimes it was regular tobacco and many more times it was pot. It seemed so long ago. He had never developed the nicotine habit other soldiers did. It was just sometimes when his nerves felt like they were going to begin snapping one by one and especially after an extremely bloody dust-off in a hot LZ. A pilot with the type of frayed nerves he had would make a fatal mistake sometime. So he learned ways to control his fear and horror.

_'N' over there who do ya talk to 'bout it? No one wants t' revisit a nightmare. Gramma wouldn' o' approved o' my smokin'. _

But then Gramma wouldn't have understood about many of the things he saw or did over there. Grampa may have understood better. Both of them were gone and buried before he returned to the States, a broken delusional shell of a man.

_'N' where were those guys that said they were my friends then? Took a while 'fore they tried t' fin' me after th' war. _

His sixth sense told him someone had noticed what he was doing. Glancing over at the three men huddled together, he met the gaze of the Lieutenant.

There was a frown on the blonde-haired man's face. Murdock squinted through the smoke as the Lieutenant nudged Hannibal and said something that directed the Colonel's attention toward him. Even Baracus stared at what he was doing.

Scowling at them, he took another deep draw from the cigarette. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees and focused on the cigarette between his fingers and the ground at his feet.

His heart was racing as fast as a bunny rabbit on amphetamines escaping a ravenous wolf. Every muscle in his body seemed to either be twitching uncontrollably or stinging as if hot needles were being jabbed deep under his skin.

Whatever was causing it, he did not know. It might be after-effects from the remote viewing sessions. Or maybe it was the uneasy feeling he got, knowing these three men had taken the doctor and him hostage and could kill them if they did not cooperate. His headache lingered as a constant dull throbbing across his forehead.

_There's times when ya need t' find somethin' that helps ya relax. I guess this's one o' those times. _

"They're coming," Stafford murmured. Murdock glanced at the doctor and then at the trio as they slowly approached the picnic table.

"We're going to stay here in the campground tonight. It's too late to be heading back to L. A. Not as tired as all of us are. Captain, you and Stafford can sleep in the tent. We'll make a bed for Amy in the van and the rest of us will trade off watching for Lynch and any signs of trouble." Hannibal frowned at the cigarette in Murdock's hand before turning his attention to the doctor. "When we get to Vegas, we'll get a couple of motel rooms and you can see what you can do."

_'Bout what? _

Murdock didn't like the sounds of that. He knew it had to be something to do with him.

_They're gonna try t' stop me from followin' through on th' mission. Jackson was right. It's a good thin' he's gonna be there in Vegas when we get there. 'Least I hope he is. _

The Colonel motioned with his head toward the van. "Get out the propane stove, B. A. We'll have supper and then we'd better turn in. It'll be a long drive to Vegas tomorrow."

"Beg pardon, Colonel, but I guess I'll jus' turn in now. Not very hungry." The pilot took one last drag on his cigarette before crushing it out in the dirt. Without waiting for an answer, he put the ear buds in place to shut out any comments and turned up his transistor radio. He walked over to the van, dug out an almost full bottle of whiskey and his bomber jacket and other clothes for the morning and retreated to the privacy of the canvas tent. He would ply the doctor for answers later.

oooooo

"What do you think's going on with him, Hannibal?" Face stared after his friend as he let the tent flap close behind him, shielding him from their view. "He isn't letting any of us but the doctor here and Amy get anywhere near him."

"Just because he isn't letting us near doesn't mean he won't begin to piece his memory back together when we get away from here. Once his mind begins to recover from whatever Jackson did to him, he'll get back to normal. Right, Doc?" Hannibal kept his eyes on the tent. His statement was meant more to convince himself than to reassure Face.

"It depends on how much Jackson knew about Captain Murdock's past. I'm not sure just leaving the area is going to stop Jackson's influence. He has psychological methods he can use against your Captain, methods that use your man's past." Stafford carefully selected his words. He wasn't about to let them know about the Colonel's psychic abilities or more about the neuroelectromagnetic transmitter.

"That's why you're going with us. You're going to counteract that influence." Hannibal took out a cigar and prepared to light it. What he was witnessing with Murdock was something he had a difficult time stomaching. His actions since being rescued were disturbingly reminiscent of the mental state the pilot had been in after their imprisonment as POWs.

"He's not actin' normal, even for him," B. A. growled as he set the propane cooking stove on the tabletop along with a couple of cans of baked beans and a can opener. "Why's he so 'fraid o' me? I don' hafta say hardly anythin' an' he's gone in some kinda flashback. He knows I ain' gonna hurt 'im, don't he?"

"I don't know, B. A." Hannibal took a draw from the cigar and squinted at the door of the canvas structure where Murdock was.

"What kinda answer's that, Hannibal?" The black man shot an irritated look at the Colonel.

"The only answer I can give you right now, Sergeant."

"And what was that with the cigarettes? He hasn't smoked since Nam. At least, I don't think he has. And he dug out that bottle we kept around for when one of us got injured." Face rubbed the back of his neck in confusion and concern.

"He ain' gonna drink all the rest o' that, is he? That's somethin' else he don' do much anymore. Gettin' drunk sittin' all 'lone by hisself." The Sergeant frowned as he glanced toward the tent. "Ain' somethin' he's s'posed ta do with the meds he takes, is it?"

"No." Hannibal shook his head. "No, it isn't." He gave B. A. and Face a worried look. "But none of us can stop him, can we?"

oooooo

As soon as the chopper touched down, Colonel Frank Jackson found a motel room in which to wait.

He sensed Murdock's worry over the delay in departing for Las Vegas but chose not to reassure him. That voice Murdock called Billy was whispering truth to him again. It would have to be silenced before it caused the pilot to regain his senses and return to his friends.

He couldn't afford to slip up again and let Murdock see and know who the woman was that accompanied them. It was important he believe the female was the Vietnamese girl Sky.

To keep Murdock confused, he assaulted the pilot's mind with memories that would prevent him from slipping into a deep restful sleep. He wasn't surprised the Captain would attempt to drown out the images with a bottle of whiskey.

He would, too, if those had been his memories.

_But whiskey isn't going to help you sleep, Captain. Nothing will. Not as long as I manipulate your thoughts and memories. _

oooooo

Alone in the tent, Murdock tossed his jacket and clothes on the end of the army cot and sat down. The solemn strains of Samuel Barber's 'Adagio for Strings' played as he uncapped the bottle in his hand.

_Who th' hell d' they think they are, sittin' in judgmen' over me? _

Sitting on the edge of the army cot, he scowled and tipped some of the whiskey into his mouth. It burned his throat as he swallowed it. He knew they kept it around for anesthetic purposes in the event one of them got injured on a job . . .

_. . . but couldn' they o' put a li'l more money down 'n' got somethin' smoother 'n this? _

Back in Nam it took more than a half bottle of cheap whiskey to temporarily blot out the reminders of the dead and dying on the floor of his chopper. The horrors never really went away. They came back when he least expected them. It was like the visions were alive and could choose whenever they wanted to torment him.

And it wasn't just those images that haunted him. Memories of his Pa and his whiskey-foul breath as he backed a young H. M. into a corner of the barn emerged from the shadows of his mind to plague him.

Pa always believed in quantity over quality when it came to his hard liquor.

He lay back on the army cot, one arm crooked between his head and the pillow. Staring up at the canvas above him, he took another swallow to forget about his Pa.

He focused on the music streaming through the ear buds. He wished he knew a way to let Colonel Jackson know they weren't going to get to Las Vegas until sometime late the following evening. What if he wasn't there waiting for them when they arrived? He would have to find his own way to escape and complete the mission.

Billy whispered to him. _Those men out there're yer friends, big brother. Don' turn 'gainst 'em. _

"Shut up," he murmured. "Shut th' hell up." Only then did Billy stop talking.

He would have to be sober for the remainder of the mission. Tonight he would try to drink himself to sleep and forget about the men who called themselves his friends but were not.


	30. Chapter 30 The Dead and Dying

Every Thought Captive

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 30 The Dead and Dying

Colonel Frank Jackson tossed the duffel bag with his own items and Murdock's change of clothes onto the motel room bed. Even though his journey from the Granite Peak installation to Las Vegas had been by chopper, he felt weary from the day's two remote viewing sessions and the trip itself. But he had to remain alert and focused on the test subject and his thoughts. There could be no slip-up.

He thought the threat of the army Colonel . . . what was his name? . . . Lynch? . . . would have sent the three men and reporter with their two captives dodging the military all the way back to Los Angeles. And to drive to Los Angeles, they would have to pass through Vegas.

It had been an inconvenience for the Captain's friends to remain in Utah overnight before making their way back home. That meant a delay in implementing the next set of instructions.

_Damn that Colonel Smith! Because of him I have to lose sleep. But maybe if I make sure the Captain's dreams are bad enough to disturb his sleep but not so bad he wakes up I can get some rest. _

For as long as he remained awake, Jackson continued his psychic assault on Murdock's mind. He sprawled in the motel room chair and rubbed at his eyes.

Planting thoughts in the pilot's brain was easy with Murdock as confused and suspicious as he currently was. Jackson chose another incident from the Captain's service in Nam and twisted it to serve his purposes.

_Not enough to drive him to suicidal thoughts, not yet, but just enough mix of false and real memories to keep him paranoid and antisocial. _

As the Captain cried quietly on the cot back in Simpson Springs and drank himself to sleep, Jackson determined to get a little shut-eye himself. He would need it for when Murdock arrived in Las Vegas with the A-team.

He dialed back the horrific memories and allowed the pilot to think about flying his Huey over the triple canopy rain forest of Vietnam searching for wounded soldiers he would never find in time. Confident the dream from that thought would keep the Captain from waking for a while, Jackson closed his eyes and slumped in the chair. Within minutes he was asleep.

oooooo

Murdock tipped the last of the whiskey into his mouth and swallowed. Getting drunk had always helped empty his mind of lingering memories in Nam but tonight the memories did not go away. It was as if they had an evil desire to taunt him, maybe drive him to do something that he couldn't ever undo.

_He landed the chopper in a hot LZ, nothing more than a postage stamp with so many casualties scattered around the perimeter he knew he couldn't transport them all. He sure hoped the medic and corpsmen were getting the most urgent cases first, the ones that had the most chance for survival. No sense transporting someone who would live for only half the trip to the helipad. Even as he thought that, he knew he had become much more calloused to death than he ever wanted to be. _

Closing his eyes, he felt droplets form at the corners.

_He always tried to keep his eyes to the front, watching the tree line in a 180 degree scan for an enemy advance until he got the word from the crew chief they were loaded and ready to go. It was only supposed to take a maximum of one minute. It was taking longer for some reason. Wanting to know why, he glanced back. Big mistake. _

He lifted the bottle, saw the last few drops in the bottom through eyes awash with tears, slanted it until the last of the whiskey touched his tongue.

_The corpsmen lifted the screaming young soldier onto the floor of the cargo bay. Then they tucked his severed lower leg close beside him. Maybe they were hoping the army surgeons could pull off a miracle and reattach it. An impossible wish. Insane almost, to hope that. Blood continued to seep from the artery and veins despite the tourniquet. More blood spurted from the area of his groin. Another man's manhood destroyed by this unending war. _

Swiping his hand across his mouth, he pitched the bottle at the far wall of the tent as hard as he could. It made a dull _whump_ as it hit the canvas.

_In those moments as he scrutinized the soldier's face . . . God, how old was he? Eighteen? . . . the suffering warrior looked at him. He saw shock and something else, something he knew would haunt him the rest of that day and through the night. Damn his eyes! _

The bottle lay on the ground. Darkness hid most of its contours but even from this distance its emptiness mocked him, reflected the emptiness inside his soul.

_He knew the medic had not read this one right. The young soldier knew it, too. He screamed, cried and pleaded with Murdock to lift the chopper up and away, to give him a chance to live. But in his eyes was the glazed look of someone who would die very soon. And there was nothing Murdock could do about it. _

He was caught up in the memory and he realized that if he went to sleep his dreams would become nightmares. And no one would help him.

Those men he called friends at one time had not helped him the night he came back from that dust-off. Each of them had something else they needed to do. They hadn't sensed his pain and he hadn't told them. Seeing something was a bit off with his behavior, mentioning it but not pursuing it, they let him nurse a bottle of whiskey long into the night. They had not helped him then and they wouldn't now either.

The thought forced the silent sobs that were making his chest heave to surface and become loud enough to be heard beyond the walls of the tent. He didn't care anymore.

_There so many groans and screams of pain that they made a kind of macabre symphony in the back of his chopper. His eyes were locked on the young soldier's gaze. To interfere with the medic and corpsmen, to question their decisions, was to delay treatment to someone who would survive. He was, after all, only the pilot, not the one providing the medical care. But he sensed the end for this young kid and it shredded his heart. _

He didn't know the moment the curses in his mind became the curses on his lips. The damn whiskey hadn't done a thing this time. He would have nightmares tonight if he slept at all. Sometimes it happened that way.

_The life light was fading quickly from the depths of those brilliant blue orbs. The young man's eyes transferred the taste of approaching death from himself to Murdock. It was a horrific bond they shared for those few moments. And then the word came from his crew chief. They were clear for take-off. He broke eye contact with the soldier and lifted the chopper out of there. Another Huey took his place. By the time they cleared the canopy, he decided he would find out who the young man was and pay a visit to his next of kin when he ended his tour of duty. It was an unspoken promise that he never had the opportunity to fulfill. _

Still thinking that, he shut his eyes to force the memories to retreat into the dark place in his mind. His words slurred, ran together until they were little more than a groan. Sleep overtook him. Tears continued to trickle from his eyes as memories of searching for the dead and dying inhabited his dreams.

oooooo

Face moved the beans around on the paper plate in front of him and strained his ears to listen for any sounds coming from the tent. If he focused hard enough, he could hear the _glug_ the whiskey made in the bottle whenever Murdock lifted it to his lips for another swallow. Each time he heard it, he winced.

_So much pain. Jackson and Stafford reversed years of therapy in just two days. _

"He's going to finish off the whole bottle, Hannibal. He doesn't do that unless he's thinking about the past and hurting." The Lieutenant lifted his gaze to his CO and pushed away his plate. "You _know_ what that means."

He rose from the picnic table and took a few steps toward the tent. Pausing, he looked back at the three men and Amy, a recriminating glare directed at Hannibal. "I'm going to talk to him."

_Just try to stop me. _

"Leave him alone for a few minutes. You don't know if he'll accept your help." The Colonel pushed away his own half-eaten food and and met Face's glare.

"Hannibal!"

"Sit down, Lieutenant. We'll know when he needs someone to intervene. Just keep listening for trouble."

_But I know him like he's my identical twin brother. He hurts, I hurt. It's been that way since Nam. And right now, he has so much pain in him, he could do something drastic. _

Face paced back and forth beside the picnic table, only occasionally stopping to put his hands on his hips in frustration. "We usually react right away when one of us is having a nightmare or flashback. We don't let it go."

Hannibal set his mouth in a firm line. "Maybe if he does have a nightmare or flashback and you help him come out of it, he'll trust you again. Right now, he doesn't. You can do more damage than good if you offer your assistance too soon."

"Oh, so now you're a head doctor, huh, Colonel?" Face put his palms flat on the picnic table and leaned across it, almost but not quite face to face with his CO.

_This is Murdock. This one of your own men. We've got to get him back from whatever dark place in his mind he's gone. Before he retreats so far we can't ever get him back in one piece. _

Amy looked at the two men, concern in her expression. "He trusts me," she murmured.

Hannibal and Face shot her irritated glares. Both men said at the same time, "No!"

"If he's real bad, he'll hurt ya, li'l sis." B. A. hadn't spoken during the argument but he did now. He stared down at the food in front of him, avoiding the heated looks his team mates were exchanging. He shoved his plate away as well with a heavy sigh.

When the bottle hit the wall, the Sergeant's head jerked upward. An anxious scowl formed on his face as he peered at the tent.

As soon as he heard the first uninhibited sobs come from the interior of the canvas shelter, he was on his feet.

Face straightened and headed toward the structure. A second later, B. A. held him back, restraining him from going further. "Wait, Faceman. Hannibal's right. The way he is right now, he needs ta hit rock bottom b'fore he'll let anyone help 'im, least of all us."

"Damn you!" Murdock's words were almost too soft to hear at first but Face heard it and cringed.

"Damn you! Damn you! _Damn you!" _The curses increased in volume. Choked back sobs punctuated every word.

"Hannibal!" The Lieutenant pushed away from B. A.'s grasp and stormed toward his CO. "Listen to him! Still think we should wait? Huh?" He could feel his face flushing with anger over the Colonel's orders.

Murdock's next words sent a chill through Face's entire body. "Why'dja look at me like that? Why'dja hafta pick my bird t' die in? Why?"

The protracted groan that followed sent the Lieutenant hurrying toward the tent. Not even Hannibal attempted to stop him this time.


	31. Chapter 31Blue Eyes Die

Every Thought Captive

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 31 Blue Eyes Die

As soon as Face drew back the tent flap and entered the canvas structure, he sensed he was too late. The groan from the man on the cot had dwindled off into a series of whimpers.

One of Murdock's arms dangled over the edge of the cot and twitched in the same manner as Face had observed earlier. The Lieutenant considered draping the limb over the pilot's abdomen, then covering him with the army blanket, but hesitated.

From where he stood, he saw tears trickling down the sides of the Captain's face from closed eyes. Murdock's entire body trembled slightly. He had been around the pilot too much to know that this was not an act. The man was asleep, although it looked like the next few hours would be restless and nightmare-filled.

Backing toward the cot on the other side of the tent, the conman sat down and wiped the lower part of his face with one hand.

_If Murdock's asleep, he probably needs it. All I can do is wait and see if I have to intervene to keep him from hurting himself. _

It wasn't that the pilot was deep in depression and couldn't be trusted alone. He was ordinarily the cheeriest most optimistic guy the Lieutenant had the pleasure of knowing. Fun to be around.

_But sometimes when he sleeps and dreams . . . And especially now, when he seems to think all of us but the doctor and Amy are enemies of some kind, I have to stick with him. _

Face frowned a little at the memories of past attempts to wake his friend. Something about those hidden parts of Murdock's military career made him suicidal sometimes when he woke disoriented and thinking he was back in Nam. And it wasn't all due to the torture in the POW camp.

The empty whiskey bottle lay at the foot of the cot where Face was seated. He shook his head in frustration knowing how much Murdock must have drunk before drifting off to sleep. Just because of that the Lieutenant decided he would stay awake and alert in the tent all night.

_Let the doctor sleep under the stars. He's part of the reason my buddy's having problems right now. Hannibal will understand. _

And even if he didn't, it didn't matter. Face would be there at the first sign that his best friend was reliving the worst of his past. It was what a brother would do for a brother.

A half hour passed before Hannibal stuck his head in to check on Face and Murdock. The Lieutenant noticed the older man's frown deepen as he saw the empty bottle and the pilot's shuddering movements in his sleep. Every few seconds Murdock softly moaned and shifted positions.

"Has he been like that the whole time?" The Colonel opened the tent flap and stepped inside. He kept his voice at a whisper.

Face nodded grimly. "But at least he isn't screaming or scrambling for a gun."

"B. A. said he'll take a shift out there watching for trouble, get a couple of hours of sleep and then spell you in here with Murdock." Hannibal watched the spasmodic twitches increase in intensity as they continued their low conversation. Silence seemed to calm the pilot down again.

"I'd rather . . . " Face began.

"You need some sleep, too, kid. Besides, B. A. practically insisted he have some time in here. He's more concerned about Murdock than he wants anyone to know. You know how he is."

_Yeah, I do know how B. A. is. But it seems like Murdock doesn't anymore. _

The Colonel continued with a small semi-serious smile. "Constantly threatens to strangle him but he'd be the first to bust through a door to rescue him."

_Come on, Hannibal. This isn't the same Murdock that sneaked into Tannini's office with Amy. They've done something to him. _

"But if he wakes up and sees B. A. in this confined space with him, how will Murdock react, Colonel? You saw how he responded whenever B. A. said anything. At least I don't pose a threat to him." Face leaned forward on the cot and placed his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands together in front of him. Focusing on his best friend's expression, the Lieutenant noted twitches of pain as the pilot wrestled with dream demons he alone saw.

He hoped Hannibal wasn't going to pull rank and order him to leave his friend's side. He would have to refuse. Simple as that.

Hannibal put a finger to his lips as Murdock grew more agitated.

"Where are ya? Where?" The low mutter wasn't very plain at first but grew in volume and clarity even as the pilot's breathing became more rapid.

_He's back in Nam . . . I think. _

Hannibal threw an arm out to prevent Face from getting too close too quickly. "Just wait."

The Lieutenant impatiently pushed away the older man's arm. "I know. I've done this before. I know the routine. But this might be more than one of his normal nightmares or flashbacks."

"That's precisely the reason I want us to watch and wait."

Face stared at Hannibal and realized he was right. He ran both hands through his hair as he kept his attention on Murdock's obvious desperation.

Murdock repeated the questions, his eyes still closed. He turned onto his left side and bent his knees, tried to curl up.

"Ripcord . . . Ripcord, come in . . . " His murmurings were strangled by a gasping sob. "Where are ya?"

Face scanned his memory for why the name Ripcord was so familiar and then he remembered.

_Ripcord was a firebase. Wasn't too far from where we made our escape from Ferret and the other VC guards. The NVA tried their best to take it in the spring of '70. There must have been a lot of casualties and wounded. And my buddy was probably involved in airlifting many of them out of there. No wonder it's causing so much pain. _

He glanced at Hannibal and saw from his expression that he made the same connection.

His muscles violently spasming, Murdock bent his right arm and covered his ear with it as if shielding his head from an explosion.

By now, both men hovered over the man on the cot but didn't touch him in case he woke believing he saw VC soldiers instead of friends.

"Saw yer smoke . . . where . . . are ya . . . Ah lost ya . . . come in, damn ya . . . " Another choked sob. He gripped his arm closer to his head. "Too many . . . can't take ya'll . . . can't . . . "

Spasms shook the entire cot and startled him out of his sleep. His eyelids snapped open and he stared straight ahead, his mouth working in a silent scream. He catapulted himself into a swaying semi-crouch as Face put out his hands to steady him.

_Here it comes. Is he going to let us help him or fight us with everything he has? _

Seconds later the pilot collapsed onto his knees and doubled over, his forehead almost touching his legs. Sitting back on his heels, he clutched both sides of his head and made small whining noises. His whole stance was that of someone in intense emotional agony.

Both men backed away to give him space, waiting for a sign that he had either fully come to his senses or was about to do something which would require them to restrain him.

"Murdock, buddy. Wake up." Face kept his voice soft and calm even though he knew only too well how horrendous the waking nightmare must be for Murdock to react in such a way. He was positive his bouts had been just as bad during the first few years after he returned from the war. He certainly remembered the dreams that caused them.

"Can't save 'im. Can't save any o' them. Where are they?" He lifted his head and stared wildly around the tent. Huge shudders ran through his body as he tried and failed to understand where he was. "Where am I?"

Face put out both hands, palms toward the man kneeling on the floor. "We're not in Nam. There's no one to rescue anymore. You saved as many as you could. You did as much as any man could be expected to do."

"Not 'nough. Never 'nough."

"There were a lot of men who died. You couldn't save all of them, Captain." Hannibal's use of Murdock's rank made the conman wince.

_Maybe the last thing Murdock needs right now is to be reminded of Nam and who he was over there. But that's about all Hannibal ever calls him. Why is that? _

Too many things were going on for Face to ponder that for long. The atmosphere was charged with the weight of his friend's guilt and sorrow over . . . what? . . . the soldiers he couldn't save? The ones left on the ground or the ones who died because he couldn't get the chopper to the nearest medical facility fast enough?

"It wasn't your fault. You weren't the only pilot flying dust-offs." Hannibal continued with words that Face couldn't remember him ever saying before to the Captain.

_Maybe because we were experts at avoidance. Maybe because we forced him to stuff the things back inside that we wanted to forget. Maybe he needed to talk it out more than we did. God help us and him if that's true. _

The Lieutenant opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again. What could he say? Maybe he should listen for once instead of saying things that served only to slap a temporary bandage on the raw wound.

The pilot gazed at him with eyes that reflected his vulnerability. He seemed so much at that moment like the old Murdock, freshly awakened from a bad dream and asking for Face's help to make sense of it. But before Face could act on what he saw, the window of opportunity closed.

Murdock's eyes crinkled shut at the memory of the brilliant blue eyes pleading with him to lift the Huey into the air. "He died. Looked at me, las' thing 'e did, begged me t' save 'im . . . " He broke off and searched Face's expression for understanding. Taking in a sharp breath, his eyes widened in confusion and pain. He staggered to his feet and, sidestepping the two men, edged backward to the tent door. His gaze was locked on Face's eyes.

"Yer eyes look 'xactly like his. Yer face's diff'rent but yer eyes . . . " The pilot grabbed his jacket from the cot and fumbled behind him for the tent flap.

"Wait. Where're you going? What're you going to do?" Face walked slowly toward his friend, not wanting to spook him any more than he or Hannibal had.

Murdock shook his head as if to clear it. He studiously kept his eyes from meeting those of Face's as he mumbled, "Don' worry 'bout me. 'M okay. Gotta get some fresh air, take a walk, that's all." He swallowed hard once and disappeared out the door.

Both men followed him outside. Hannibal frowned after him as he strode away, slipping the jacket on over his bare shoulders and arms. "Do you have any idea what he's talking about? Was there a particular incident he's remembering?"

Face reflected. There was one time but he thought the pilot had forgotten it in the days and weeks afterward.

_Evidently not. And I didn't help. _

"Remember those words he said? He drank a whole bottle of whiskey by himself that night, too. I tried to get him to talk to me, tell me about it, but he just looked at me with those haunted eyes and kept drinking. I didn't understand why until now." Face watched as Murdock walked quickly along the campground road to the office.

"Tell me about it. Help me understand what's going on, kid." His eyes on the pilot, Hannibal waited for an explanation.

"What I know about it came from Murdock's crew chief a few days after the dust-off and before we were sent to the Ashau Valley to help with clean-up. It was back in the spring months of 1970. Remember? It was during the evacuation of Firebase Ripcord. There was a young kid badly wounded that was put on Murdock's chopper. The crew chief didn't understand exactly what happened but somehow the kid and Murdock connected. Funny thing is, he didn't remember them saying a single word to each other. The kid died mid-flight to Camp Evans and Murdock took it hard." Face grimaced as he saw the pilot come out of the office, pausing to light a cigarette from the newly opened pack he had purchased.

For several moments Murdock paced back and forth on the dirt road in front of the building, smoking and occasionally glancing their way. As he finished his cigarette, he ground it out with the sole of his black sandal and hesitated before coming back toward them.

"Feel better, buddy?" Face reached out to grip Murdock's elbow as he passed by to enter the tent.

The Lieutenant saw a flicker of something in the pilot's face as he pulled away and pasted on a faint smile. He avoided Face's scrutinizing look.

_I can tell a fake smile from a mile away. He doesn't feel any better. _

"Yeah. Sorry 'bout the trouble I caused. Think I'm gonna go runnin'. Exercise'll prob'ly do me some good, keep me from havin' any more bad dreams. If ya don' mind, Colonel?" Murdock's eyes had a challenging glint to them as if he was testing the boundaries of what Hannibal would allow him to do.

The Colonel met his steady gaze, shrugged and let him pass. "As long as you stay close to the campground. We don't want Colonel Lynch or anybody from Granite Peak to see you and take you prisoner again."

Murdock's smile faded. "No. O' course not."

"I'll go with you if you wouldn't mind the company," Face blurted before the pilot could enter the tent.

Halfway in the door, Murdock paused. He licked his lips as if nervous about something. When he glanced at the conman the artificial smile was back. "Naw, that's alright. B'sides, yer never able t' keep up th' pace 'n' I don' think I can carry ya back here when ya collapse."

He went inside and emerged moments later wearing a plain olive drab T-shirt, the black cotton pants from the installation and his high top tennies. Without another word, he set off at an easy jogging pace along the campground road, leaving Face and Hannibal behind.

oooooo

Colonel Jackson startled awake. For a few seconds, he stared around him at the shabby décor of the motel room.

Focusing his mind on Murdock, he sensed the pilot had awoken from a nightmare. Jackson frowned as he realized the Captain remembered a time when Lieutenant Peck had taken most of one night to talk him through a similar bad dream.

_Can't have that. _

Jackson saw the similarity between the eyes of the dying young soldier in Murdock's dream and those of the blonde-haired friend even before Murdock thought it. With a smirk the Colonel planted the idea in the pilot's head.

_He won't be able to look at his friend without having those eyes as a reminder of the kid he couldn't save. _

He left the motel room in search of a convenience store that sold cola by the case and caffeine tablets. If the Captain wouldn't go to sleep and stay asleep, then he couldn't either.

_His friends must not break through to him._


	32. Chapter 32 Nowhere to Run

Every Thought Captive

AN: The Simpson Springs Campground run by the Bureau of Land Management is more primitive than what I have described. There is no office or individual water spigots and you must supply your own drinking water although water for cleaning is available.

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 32 Nowhere to Run

Once on the dirt road leading out of the campground, Murdock allowed his breathing and arm and leg movements to sync into an easy rhythm. At least for now, he escaped the pain-filled blue eyes of the dying young soldier. He left the suspicious stares of his former team mates behind, too.

He did as he always did when he was able to run for the sheer pleasure of it. He allowed his senses of sight, smell and hearing to take over and push every thought and memory into the outermost perimeter of his mind.

_If booze ain' gonna do it I gotta find some other way t' have peace. 'N' since I don' have a bird t' fly . . . _

High above him, a red-tailed hawk glided in wide lazy circles on updrafts created by the Simpson Range behind him. Desert saltgrass stretched as far as he could see on either side of him. Even in the early evening sunlight the rounded crowns of big sagebrush shone silver-white.

To his left he heard the raspy _tschicka-tschicka-tschicka _of a juniper titmouse. A chukar scolded him with a _chuk-chuk _from its nest under a two foot tall shadscale saltbrush shrub. A large scrawny jackrabbit skittered across the road in front of him. With a quick flash of brownish-gray, the hare scurried among the brush and disappeared.

As Murdock ran, he realized he left the clip-on radio and ear buds back in the tent. He also forgot to bring along water, a serious mistake if he was to run any distance in the western desert landscape. The heat of the day had hung on into dusk.

_Ain' gonna go back for 'em now. Colonel'd insist th' Lieutenant run with me. _

He had run a quarter of a mile when he came to a fork in the road. Turning to his left he passed crumbled ruins of an old CCC camp before coming to the graded gravel surface of the Simpson Springs-Callao Road. Looking at the horizon, he knew dark was approaching.

_But I don' wanna go back. Not yet. _

The sinking sun painted the wispy clouds that remained in the sky brilliant orange, red and pink. He reduced his pace to pay attention to the progression of the setting orb behind Indian Peak. Feeling sweat trickling down his face and chest from his exertion and the heat, he lifted the front of his T-shirt and mopped his forehead. He continued running well after the last rays of light retreated from the sky.

oooooo

As the campground grew quiet and the sun began to go down, Hannibal glanced at his watch. His frown deepened as a suspicion nagged at him. He hoped he was wrong.

Amy and Face talked quietly to each other as they sat at the picnic table. The Lieutenant's arm loosely hugged the reporter to himself. Her head rested on his shoulder. Both of them were positioned so they could watch the sun go down behind the mountains skirting the campground.

The doctor was chain smoking in the front seat of the van and showed no signs of settling in for the night. He would be sleeping in either the rental car or the van.

The Colonel decided, after the earlier nightmare Murdock had, that Face would remain with the pilot for most of the night. Hannibal would spell him until it was time to pack up and leave the campground the next morning.

Hannibal grew tense as the minutes passed and the Captain did not return. Finally he made his way over to the couple at the picnic table. "Face, go look in the tent. See if Murdock took a firearm with him. I know he didn't take any water."

At the mention of a weapon, the Lieutenant's eyes widened slightly. "He wouldn't . . . "

"That's what I want you to find out. I don't think he gained access to his Browning but we weren't expecting him to try for it either."

Amy gasped when she realized what Hannibal meant. She gripped the conman's arm in fear.

Squeezing her hand to reassure her, Face hurried to the tent. He came back out clutching a water bottle but no gun. The worry on the conman's face sent Hannibal over to consult with B. A. Within minutes the black Sergeant had the weapons storage box in the back of the van open.

With a heavy relieved sigh, B. A. shut and secured the locker. "Everything's accounted for, Hannibal."

The Colonel looked at his two men. "Good. The strange way he's been behaving, we'll keep all firearms away from him, okay?"

Neither B. A. nor Face disagreed but they did cast anxious glances between them.

"Gettin' dark out here, Colonel. Crazy man oughta be comin' back by now." The black man scowled toward the sunset.

Hannibal motioned with his head toward the rental car. "Why don't you go ahead and bring him that water, kid? And get him to come back with you. I don't want him out there alone this late at night in the mental state he's in."

Moments later Face was carefully driving along the route Murdock had taken. As he drove and scanned the sides of the road for traces of his friend, he hoped he wouldn't have trouble convincing the pilot to get in the car. That was, if he could locate him.

oooooo

The western desert of Utah became very dark very quickly when the sun went down. He told himself he would go back in a few more minutes several times.

A pair of headlights illuminated him from behind. He strayed off as close as he could to the side of the road to let the vehicle get by him.

The car passed him slowly before speeding up again. About six hundred feet away it turned off to the left and turned around to face him. He glared at the driver as he neared the vehicle and curled his fists into tight white-knuckled balls.

"The Colonel was worried about you. So was B. A., Amy and me."

_Yeah, right. _

The Lieutenant had the driver's side window rolled down. He could see the megawatt flash of perfect white teeth even in the dark. Part of him wanted to knock the smile off the man's face but instead he stopped a few feet from the car.

Gripping one ankle in his hand, he bent his knee, stretched his leg muscles and then switched sides. He wasn't sure how he should answer so he focused on keeping his muscles loose.

_If he pulls a gun on me, I'll duck 'n' cover. _

The Lieutenant sighed almost imperceptibly at the angry silence coming from Murdock. "You didn't bring any water with you. I've got a bottle here in the car if you want it."

The pilot clenched his jaw at the interruption to his run. "Ah'm alright."

At least in the dark, the Lieutenant's blue eyes didn't remind him of Vietnam, death and his own personal guilt.

"I'm afraid the Colonel wants you to come back to the campsite now. It isn't a suggestion; it's an order." Part of Murdock wanted to believe the apologetic tone in the other man's voice but something inside him was telling him he shouldn't.

Billy had listened to what Murdock told him before and remained silent during his run. Now his angel brother pleaded with him.

_Go back with 'im, brother. Everythin'll be alright. _

Murdock listened for Jackson's voice and felt uncomfortable when the military man didn't advise him. He kept his eyes on the man in the driver's seat, wary of any movement which would show him his distrust was justified.

"Come on, buddy. Don't get me in trouble with the Colonel. Besides, where are you going to go this time of night?"

_What's it matter to you? _

With no other voices telling him what to do, Murdock gave up and sullenly got into the front passenger's seat of the rental car. When the conman passed him the water, he shook his head.

_Can't be sure they didn' poison it. _

He turned his gaze to the right, hoping the action would keep the blonde-haired man from trying to get him to talk. It worked.

_They can bring me back, make me lay down, but they can't make me sleep. _

With that thought in his mind, he propped his knees on the dashboard and crossed his arms across his chest, determined to stay awake until they hit Vegas the next late afternoon and Jackson freed him from his captors.

oooooo

Popping a caffeine tablet in his mouth and washing it down with a swig of canned cola, Jackson paced the motel room. He had succeeded in silencing Billy for a while. Inwardly he felt a sense of accomplishment. Billy's influence was waning and his was on the rise.

The Colonel knew now from the desperate way Murdock sought out his voice that the pilot trusted him more than he had. Not only trusted him but thought he needed direction from him in order to survive what he believed was a hostage situation.

He would keep Murdock awake now, shatter his nerves even more with a flashback in the middle of the night.

_Sleep deprivation is such a useful tool._

Jackson smiled to himself as he finished the can of soda and popped the tab on another.


	33. Chapter 33 A Useful Tool

Every Thought Captive

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 33 A Useful Tool

After two hours of quiet, Murdock squinted over at the Lieutenant on the other cot.

The pilot had not been pleased with the sleeping arrangements. He wanted more than anything to stay awake and sit outside in the dark but the Colonel made it clear he had absolutely no choice. The conman seemed equally displeased, longingly gazing at Sky as he grumbled under his breath.

Or at least that's what Murdock thought he saw and heard. His grasp on reality lately was not firm at all.

"Just in case you have trouble sleeping during the night," the Colonel put it, worriedly scrutinizing the pilot's belligerent expression. Then his gaze turned to the Lieutenant as he said with a trace of amusement, "And to keep you_ out_ of trouble during the night."

_Jus' so I don' go for a run 'n' forget t' come back, ya mean. 'N' why th' Lieutenant's got 'is eye on Sky's more th'n I can figure out. _

Sky was sweet and innocent, still a virgin from what Murdock had been able to ascertain from their conversations, and the pilot intended on keeping it that way. She would not be another casualty of the godforsaken war, if he could help it.

He would have to keep watch over the young Vietnamese girl. He could not let the handsome blonde-haired womanizer charm her into compliance. Just thinking of it made him clench his fists and glare at the man in the bed opposite him.

To all outside appearances, the conman seemed to be soundly sleeping.

_Finally!_

Not that the man in the other bed hadn't tried to stay awake. He continued to attempt to engage Murdock in conversation for at least a half hour.

_Yammerin' 'way 'bout ol' missions 'n' gals he's been with. I don' give a shit 'bout all those women he took t' bed. He ain' gettin' his lousy hands on Sky. _

Murdock remained impassive, occasionally grunting a small acknowledgment. More often he glared at the man in silence, especially at the tell-all way the man described his sexual encounters.

When the Lieutenant recalled the times he utilized Murdock's help in scamming something or the narrow escapes they had in the past, the pilot recognized something else that bothered him.

He didn't remember the missions quite the way the conman did. Their two versions didn't mesh and he didn't think he could blame it all on intermittent memory loss. He was certain one of them was either lying or not remembering correctly.

_He's always puttin' on a mask 'n' lyin' through 'is teeth so why should this be any diff'rent? _

The pilot slid a long-sleeved dark brown plaid flannel shirt on over the plain gray T-shirt and navy blue sweats he had worn to bed. Topping it with his jacket, he slipped on his tennies. He removed his cap from where it was stuffed into the pocket of his jacket and jammed it onto his head.

There was still some swelling around his temple. He had an injury of some kind in that area but he couldn't remember how he got it. The hair above his ear had been shaved back a little and a gauze bandage was taped in place over the wound. He gingerly touched it and frowned.

_How come I can't 'member where I got somethin' like that? _

He shook his head and concentrated on getting out of there as quickly and quietly as possible. Positioning the ear buds in his ears and turning on the transistor radio, he carefully crept to the door of the tent. Through the earpieces, he heard Creedance Clearwater Revival singing "Fortunate Son."

_But it ain't me, it ain't me  
I ain't no senator's son, son,  
It ain't me, it ain't me,  
I ain't no fortunate one, no . . . _

Pausing, he scowled down at the conman once more before quietly leaving the canvas structure.

_Jus' keep sleepin', boy. Ya ain' gonna get within ten feet o' Sky t'night if I can help it. _

The moon had barely crested the mountains. If he was going to make his move, it had to be before the campground was fully bathed in its light. Somewhere on one of the slopes either the Colonel or the Sergeant kept watch over the road leading in to their section of the campground. They would be keeping their eyes peeled for headlights or any other suspicious movement. He would have to be careful while he did his own surveillance.

He wished he had a weapon of some kind and then narrowed his eyes as a thought came to him. He couldn't secure a gun but he might be able to get into the black van to find a knife. The other weapons would be in that gun locker he saw in the back and the only one who had the key was the big Sergeant.

_No way 'm I gonna try t' get it from 'im neither. _

Memories of a fist to the jaw that laid him out cold prompted him to tentatively rub that side of his face.

_More muscle th'n brains but I still ain' gonna try t' outwit 'im t' get that key. _

He sneaked over to where the van was parked and peeked in the driver's window without touching the door.

_Damn! _

The white-haired Colonel occupied the front passenger's seat. He was either fast asleep or resting his eyes. Murdock wasn't about to find out which it was.

_I try messin' with th' van doors, he's gonna wake up. _

Giving up on the idea of arming himself with a knife, he wondered where Doctor Stafford and Sky were sleeping.

_Th' car? Or on th' floor o' th' van? _

It was Sky he needed to protect. He had to find her. If he had to, he would fight off her attackers, especially that promiscuous Lieutenant, with his bare fists.

_Forget th' doctor. He's on 'is own. _

He could hear Mick Jagger of The Rolling Stones begin to sing "Paint It Black" over the transistor radio. Absently, he wondered why all the music playing that night was songs he heard during his time in Nam.

He scanned the campground for any sign of movement, then tiptoed soundlessly to where the rental was parked beside a wind-twisted pinyon pine. The front seat was empty. Peeking in the rear side window, he sighed in relief.

The moon had risen sufficiently to illuminate the person in the back seat, curled on her side under the blanket. He stood for a few seconds in the shadow of the tree, smiling and watching her sleep, a peaceful expression on her face. Her skin was milky white in the moonlight.

_She is sleepin', ain' she? _

The question bothered him. He had to check it out. Shading his eyes with his hands, he pressed his face up to the window to look in at her. His breath fogged the glass for a few seconds. As the condensation faded, a cruel image transposed itself upon the sleeping woman.

The transformation was so sudden, he stumbled back wide-eyed with alarm and fell clumsily onto the ground. The ear buds dangled around his neck, the music still faintly playing. A keening wail escaped from his lips before he could contain it. His chest heaved with his alarmed breaths.

_Sky! Oh God! What'd they do t' ya? _

Before he could scramble away from the bloodied corpse, he heard the sound of someone rushing down the rocky slope toward him. The van door opened. The sound of gravel crunching underfoot told him he was about to have company. People were shouting, coming toward him, surrounding him on three sides.

The scene shifted. He staggered to a half-crouch and frantically glanced around. The smell of rotting garbage and dank earth invaded his nostrils. The moon glinted off puddles in the alleyway beside the Hanoi bar. He ran because standing his ground would be a fatal mistake.

_Three o' them 'gainst li'l ol' me ain' good odds in anyone's book. _

The men in the olive drab fatigues ran after him. He heard their pounding footsteps and their heavy breaths as they tried to keep up.

_They catch me, they're gonna pound me 'til I'm part o' th' dirt in this alley. _

He had always been a fast sprinter but he wasn't quick enough to evade them. The biggest one backed him up against a wall that appeared out of nowhere. Staring into the ugly mudsucker's face, into the dangerous threatening eyes, Murdock hunched into a defensive posture and waited for the enraged soldier's next move.

The black hulking attacker lurched toward him and grabbed his left arm. The pilot threw all of his weight behind an evasive maneuver. Ducking down low, he drove his left shoulder into the burly soldier's hips to knock him off-balance. He let the massive body crash to the earth to his left as he backed up and turned to run again. He couldn't let the Goliath get to his feet and have the opportunity to chase him down.

The man's two friends were in front of him before he could take a single step.

_Shit! Oh shit, no! _

He swiveled around slowly, trying to keep his wild terrified eyes on all three attackers at once. The man he had just dropped muttered "Crazy fool" and scowled at him.

"Murdock! It's me, buddy!" another of the soldiers said, his arms outstretched as if to grab the pilot if he attempted to get past him.

He shook his head to clear it but couldn't get rid of the feeling he was about to be killed. He gulped breath after breath of rancid air, knowing each one might be his last.

The giant black soldier was on his feet again and Murdock cursed himself for not being quicker to make his escape. A half-rabid angry growl sounded from deep inside him.

Maybe if he knocked one of the men down and was nimble enough to twist out of any attempt to tackle him, he would get away. It was a last-ditch effort to avoid capture and he knew it. As he allowed the craziness in his mind to dictate his actions, he chose who looked like the weakest link among the three.

Murdock put his head down, his left arm bent and chest-level in front of him, and rushed the white-haired Colonel.

He wasn't surprised when his arms were gripped on either side and he was wrestled to the ground. The black giant straddled him and held him down, a meaty hand around both forearms.

"Listen, fool! Ya ain' in Nam anymore. _We ain' in Nam!_" The gruff angry voice was familiar. The man cuffed him across the injured spot on his temple and his vision was briefly filled with intense white dots. He stared up into the soldier's face and watched it transform from one of the Marines in the Hanoi alley to that of Sergeant Baracus.

He didn't know which was worse.

His mind slipped into blind panic as he waited for the man's hands to grip his throat and squeeze out his life. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see the Sergeant's rage-contorted face anymore.

"Không giết tôi! (Don't kill me!)" he begged repeatedly. "_Không giết tôi! (Don't kill me!)_"

Hysteria overwhelmed him. His pleas became unintelligible howls.

The three men seemed to be debating something among themselves but he couldn't distinguish their words. His head was filled with the deafening sound of his own terror-filled cries.

"Murdock." A pair of soft cool hands cupped either side of his face.

_Cyndy?_

He heard her but the part of his mind in control over his actions wasn't allowing him to respond to her. The irrational thoughts refused to be tucked back into the dark hiding places he had so carefully constructed over the years of misunderstanding and abuse.

"We gotta get outta here, Colonel. He's raisin' enough of a ruckus, the authorities'll be here before long checkin' things out." The black man holding him down raised his voice above Murdock's howls.

"Agreed. You have the needle, Face? Hand it to me."

Moments later Murdock felt a sharp prick of pain in his neck. His muscles numbed and he futilely attempted to prevent his mind from slipping into darkness. The last thing he felt was the Sergeant standing and carefully lifting him across his shoulders to carry him somewhere.

oooooo

Colonel Jackson was pleased when Murdock left the tent to check on the woman he thought was the Vietnamese girl. Maybe the Captain could take care of that particular loose end before they got to Vegas. He projected suggestions to the pilot's mind and made sure the radio tunes would remind Murdock of Vietnam.

_Find a weapon you can use. _

It wasn't for the pilot's own protection. Jackson had a far better use for Murdock to be armed with something deadly. If the pilot believed he was responsible for his Vietnamese girlfriend's death, maybe it would further encourage him to follow through with the plan to dispose of Cazador. And the reporter would either be so badly injured she would not obstruct the plan or she would be dead.

_Guilt. What a useful emotion. _

Jackson had purged all unnecessary feelings like that from inside himself long ago. Not having those feelings himself did not mean he wasn't aware of how powerful a tool they could be in influencing someone to do his will.

_Overwhelming guilt can make the strongest mind contemplate suicide. _

The military man cursed to himself when he sensed through Murdock's thoughts that the van and its weapons could not be accessed.

Instead, he projected the image of the Vietnamese girl into Murdock's mind so he saw the dead girl when he looked at the reporter. The pilot's reaction was much better than he could have hoped for.

_That should destabilize his mind a bit more, make it more pliable. _

He did not realize how quickly the men in the team would react. Before they could begin to carefully bring him out of what they must believe to be a flashback, Jackson pushed Murdock into a memory he was certain would further drive a wedge between him and the men who wanted to help him.

The Army Colonel had seen Murdock's medical history, knew he had been attacked by three assailants in an alley outside a bar in Hanoi. He read Murdock's vague descriptions of the men. The account was so hazy, he was certain Sergeant Baracus could pass as a reasonable facsimile of the leader of the attackers.

He kept pressure on the pilot, savoring the near-insanity he sensed in the man's mind and knowing he alone controlled how far he would let it proceed. It was a power trip Jackson relished.

But something happened as the black Sergeant pinned Murdock to the ground. Jackson couldn't be certain what it was but Murdock's thoughts began to blur.

He heard the black man warn the others that they had to leave the Simpson Springs campground. Smith talked about a needle.

That was it. They injected the pilot with something to knock him out. On one hand, Jackson was pleased they were leaving the area. It meant they would be in Vegas sooner than originally expected, but it also meant he would have to make sure the pilot's waking thoughts were carefully monitored.

He set the alarm clock for two hours and allowed himself to drift to sleep. That was all the rest time he could safely allot himself. He would need it for when the A-team got to Vegas.


	34. Chapter 34 My Turn

Every Thought Captive

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 34 "My Turn"

Murdock's outburst forced them to hurriedly pack everything and vacate the campground around one in the morning.

Hefting the pilot into place across his shoulders, B. A. carried him to the van. He gently lifted the Captain into the seat Face normally occupied and buckled him in securely.

For a moment, he looked down at the sleeping man as if worried he might have woke him. His gaze softened and he shook his head. "You rest, li'l brother," he muttered, hesitating for a moment before placing a pillow behind Murdock's head. He dug in the pilot's duffel bag and tucked Bogey the white teddy bear under Murdock's left arm. Stepping back, he almost knocked Face down behind him.

The Lieutenant repositioned the ear buds and made sure the transistor radio was on. B. A. gave him a puzzled frown.

"If it'll help him relax and sleep as long as he can . . . " He shrugged and softly patted his friend on the shoulder before leaving the van to help stow cargo in the back of the vehicle. B. A. went to assist Hannibal in taking down the tent. Within fifteen minutes the two vehicles were on the road to Tooele to drop off the car in the lot beside the rental office.

Two hours later, after leaving the rental car, Amy and Face cuddled up under a blanket on the floor of the van between the doctor and Murdock. They quickly fell asleep in each other's arms.

As they left Tooele, Doctor Stafford took out a cigarette. B. A. scowled into the rearview mirror at the scientist and growled his disapproval. "Only one smokes in my ride's the Colonel."

Hannibal grinned back at the doctor, cigar clenched between his teeth. "Rank and knowing the driver has its privileges."

Pursing his lips, Stafford returned his cigarette to the pack and stuffed the pack into his shirt pocket. He spent the next hour sullenly staring straight ahead through the windshield at the bleak desert terrain before likewise falling asleep.

The light pink of dawn flushed the horizon with color as B. A. drove south on US-50 through southern Utah. Hannibal continually glanced back with worried eyes at their unconscious pilot. He couldn't get out of his mind the terrified howls the pilot made four hours before. More than ever he was convinced they could not wait the remaining four or more hours it would take to get to Vegas.

_The sooner we can get Stafford to work on reversing what was done to Murdock, the better. Right now, the way he is, he's a stick of dynamite with a lit short fuse._

As he watched, Murdock's forehead creased in a pained expression. His hands twitched and his leg muscles tightened as if he were bracing himself for sudden impact.

Noting Hannibal's intent stare, B. A. glanced back at the pilot. "It's startin' again, Colonel. An' nobody's 'wake back there ta handle him. Ya want me ta pull over?"

The older man rubbed his weary eyes with a gloved hand and shook his head. "If he gets worse you'll have to."

Murdock whimpered in his sleep and Hannibal prepared himself to respond. "We may have to find a motel soon and spend as much time there as he needs, Sergeant."

"Vegas is still a ways 'way."

"He isn't getting any better." The Colonel searched the other man's expression and saw his resignation and sadness.

"I know." The black man's voice dropped to a husky mumble. "It's gonna be as bad as when he came back ta us in the camp, ain' it?"

"I don't know but I'm afraid it might be. Stafford and Jackson made him remember, maybe even relive, the torture of the camp and whatever else he has in his past that creates those flashbacks and nightmares."

_And that's the million dollar question. How bad will it be when he's being reprogrammed or whatever else Stafford has to do to him? _

"Colonel, I get my hands on that Jackson, I'll . . . " Instead of finishing, B. A. slammed an open palm on the steering wheel and scowled back at an increasingly restless pilot.

Murdock arched his back and groaned. His eyes opened halfway and he rasped, "Không để cho họ đưa tôi! (Don't let them take me!) Tôi không sẵn sàng. (I'm not ready.)"

"Look at his eyes, Colonel. He ain' here. He's back in Nam." The Sergeant shifted his attention back and forth between the road ahead and the pilot.

Murdock's eyes were fully open but clouded and unfocused. Trembling violently, he drew his sneakered feet up into the seat with him and clasped his knees closely to his chest.

He released Bogey from his grip. The stuffed animal dropped on Face's head, prompting a murmured, "Not the hair, sweetheart, don't muss the hair" from the partially awake conman. Without opening his eyes, he brushed the bear off to the floor behind him and drew Amy a little closer.

Murdock began to slowly rock back and forth, humming something to himself that sounded like an old nursery song. Every few breaths he swallowed back a sob.

First Face and then Amy roused to the sounds and the movement beside them. One glance at the agitated pilot brought the Lieutenant out from under the blanket and on his knees beside Murdock's seat.

"Murdock. Oh God, Face. Be careful." Amy scooted back as far as she could to the opposite side of the van. Her hand was over her mouth and her eyes glistened with tears for her friend and what he was going through.

She brushed against Doctor Stafford's legs and woke him. He blinked slowly and yawned, then fixed his attention on what was happening with the man in the other seat. Impassively, he watched with arms folded across his chest, neither lending assistance nor giving advice. Hannibal noted the doctor's reaction with a growing sense the scientist knew more than he was telling about the state of their friend.

"Easy, buddy. Take it easy. You're safe." It was a litany Face had memorized over the years, one that eventually always coaxed his friend from the land of nightmares and monsters back into reality. This time it seemed to intensify the rocking and trembling.

"Bạn nghe? _Bạn nghe?_ Họ đang đến. (You hear? _You hear? _They're coming.)" He reached out and gripped Face's forearm, digging his fingernails into the skin. His frantic eyes searched the Lieutenant's expression for any recognition of the danger they were in. Finding none, he bent over his knees again and buried his face from view in his arms. A violent tremor passed through his entire body.

"Họ đang đến cho tôi. (They're coming for me.)" His voice was a resigned whisper. His shoulders shook with the silent tears of dread.

Hannibal already had the syringe out and was filling it from the small vial of etomidate. "Pull over as soon as it's safe to do so, B. A."

Murdock raised his head, a manic glint in his wet eyes, an unexpected ghastly grin on his face that brought alarm to both Face and Hannibal. They had seen the look before. When the guards picked up the pace on how many times Murdock was taken for interrogation, they saw it. When he did and said things that would guarantee he, instead of Face, would be taken, they saw it. None of them would forget that look. It was that expression that made each of them wonder how close to full-blown insanity the pilot had strayed. Just as they were wondering now.

The singsong chant started low and grew louder as he rocked in time to the words. His gaze was on something distant, something invisible. "Bật của tôi . . . bật của tôi . . . bật của tôi . . . "My turn . . . my turn . . . my turn . . . )" Almost like he was on a playground skipping rope to a childhood refrain, the pilot continued to repeat it. Louder and louder, more and more feverishly, he intoned the words. His strained grin grew wider with each repetition and his eyes widened with the approach of an enemy only he saw.

The van stopped suddenly and Murdock did, too.

"Họ đang ở đây! (They're here!)"

With a despairing cry, he tried to rocket from the seat but the seat belt held him in place. His chant morphed into a series of anguished howls as he fought against the restraint, seeming to not remember how to unfasten it.

Face threw his full weight into trying to hold the Captain down. Meanwhile, B. A. got out of the van and hurried around to the side door. Throwing it open, he grabbed the pilot's right arm and pushed the jacket sleeve up, baring his arm, then held him down on that side.

"Hurry, Hannibal."

The Colonel edged his way in beside the Sergeant and released the contents of the syringe into Murdock's forearm. He stood back and frowned as the pilot thrashed against Face's and B. A.'s holds with weakening efforts. The sedative seemed to take a very long time to work. Hannibal did not speak until it did and Murdock was once again fully unconscious.

"I gave him enough for another two hours. I don't want to give him any more than that. We'd better make plans to stop a half hour to an hour before the sedative wears off. That should put us in the vicinity of Hurricane, Utah. It's near Zion National Park so there should be plenty of motel rooms."

"And then what, Hannibal? Do we get a priest in to perform an exorcism? Do we tie him down to the bed until he recognizes us? Do we keep him doped up for a week until we _think _he may be able to function normally again?" Face threw his hands up in the air when Hannibal shook his head in silence. Amy cautiously slipped past the sleeping pilot to join him outside. He wrapped his arms around her to comfort her but kept angry eyes on the Colonel.

B. A. looked past all of them to the doctor sitting in the van. The medical man had taken the opportunity to light a cigarette for himself.

_No doubt listening to all of this and maybe even enjoying it, _Hannibal thought to himself.

"I tol' ya no one smokes in my ride 'cept the Colonel." B. A. glared at the man as he took his time picking his way past Murdock and out of the van. "You got Murdock this way, sucka. You better be thinkin' of how you're gonna get him back the way he was." The big Sergeant stalked over to the smaller scientist and grabbed a handful of shirt. "An' then I wanna know where ta find this Colonel Jackson 'cause I got a few things I wanna do to _him_, too."

Stafford peered up into the angry man's face and smirked. "Colonel Smith, if you want my cooperation, you'll get your trained gorilla off me . . . now."

"That's enough, B. A. First we find a place to work, then we concern ourselves with shutting down Jackson's little operation." Hannibal placed one hand on the muscular man's bicep and gestured for him to release the doctor. "Let's get back on the road, guys."

"But I'm not done with my cigarette," the doctor protested.

"Yes, you are." B. A. removed the cigarette from the scientist's hand and tossed it to the ground. With a fierce twist of his foot, he crushed it before heading to the driver's seat. The doctor opened his mouth in protest. Then he scowled and climbed over Murdock's legs to his seat.

"Next stop, Hurricane, Utah," Face said under his breath as he helped Amy back into the van and closed the side door.

oooooo

Colonel Jackson had been awake for a half hour when Murdock showed signs of waking. He immediately relayed the memory he wanted the pilot immersed in when he opened his eyes.

_Remember what it was like with the bleeding shredded skin of your back up against the bamboo cage, watching and waiting for the guards to come for one of you? They almost always came for you and not one of the other men, didn't they? Why was that? Why didn't the others protect you like you tried to protect them? _

Jackson smiled when Murdock reacted the way he wanted him to. But then Murdock reached out for his best friend, tried to relay to him what he was "seeing." After that, the pilot's mind seemed to surge uncontrollably toward the snapping point.

Alarmed, Jackson attempted to "talk" to him but managed only to convince him that danger was approaching. Would Murdock think it was a premonition of something to come?

_This shows, more than anything, his friends must be out of the way. If he remembers the truth, he won't carry through with the plan._

The military man was anxious for Murdock to arrive in Las Vegas. The greater distance they were apart, the harder it was to "see" obstacles and take care of them. He realized he did not have as much control while they were apart as he had believed.

_Another four hours and they will be here. _

He sensed that the neuroelectromagnetic implant in Murdock's head had malfunctioned in some way. Something had happened to it back at the campground but he didn't know what. It meant he would have to have Doctor Stafford come along when he made Murdock disappear from the team's sights. Stafford would have to repair it somehow. After that, he would have to see what to do about the scientist.

Jackson was almost relieved when Smith sedated Murdock the second time. There would not be any reason to monitor the pilot's thoughts for a couple of hours again. Another two hours of sleep was welcome.


	35. Chapter 35 Hurricane and Beyond

Every Thought Captive

AN: Italicized sentences are the thoughts Colonel Jackson is sending Murdock. Murdock's thoughts are inside single quotation marks. Speech is in double quotation marks.

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 35 Hurricane and Beyond

By the time he woke enough to realize someone was talking to him, one of Murdock's ear pieces had fallen out. At first he thought the voice was one of his captors. Then he recognized it was internal, not external.

_Where are you, Captain? Where have they taken you and Doctor Stafford? _

Murdock tried to silently answer the voice he heard in his head. He hoped Colonel Jackson could 'hear' his thoughts.

'I don' know. They kept me under mosta th' time. If I look 'round too much, they're gonna stick 'nother needle in me t' make me sleep.'

Colonel Smith and Lieutenant Peck had been ruthless as far as keeping him sedated. He hated the fogginess of waking and he didn't trust these men had his best interests in mind when they drugged him, either.

'Jackson has to answer,' he thought in desperation. 'He _has_ to.'

He strained to 'hear,' then when there was no reply, 'What should I do, Colonel?' And, to himself, 'Ya gotta answer. Don' leave me 'lone now.'

He was a hostage. That much Murdock remembered. He had also been having nightmares and flashbacks more often since being in the presence of these men.

Was it because of them? Did they bring the crazy out in him somehow?

The sooner he could escape, with or without the doctor, the better. Every moment spent with them kept him from his mission and pushed him closer to insanity.

Jackson finally responded. If Murdock wasn't trying so hard to keep the other men from knowing he was totally conscious, the pilot would have sighed with relief.

_Pretend you're not aware of your surroundings. Stare out the windshield at the signs going by. I'll keep my mind focused on what you're seeing and hearing and figure out where you are by that. _

'Gotcha. Some kinda Vulcan mind meld shit like Spock did in Star Trek, right?'

_Something like that._

He thought he could almost hear Jackson chuckle at that silly comparison he made. Someone else used to laugh like that at the stupid things he said and did to bring calm to tense situations. Briefly an unexpected memory of Colonel Smith flashed into his mind and made him pause.

They had just escaped from Colonel Lynch and as the plane lifted up into the sky with him at the controls, he let out a joyous whoop. Smith was in the copilot's seat chuckling and lighting a cigar. He glanced across and laughed along with the Colonel. He could see the twinkle in Hann . . . no, Colonel Smith's . . . eye and feel the congratulatory pat on his shoulder . . . he heard him murmur, "Nice, Captain," as they soared into the late afternoon sun . . .

_Focus, son. I have to get you out of there and you have to show me where they're taking you. Remember the mission. _

He frowned and gave the back of Smith's head a questioning glance. So was there a time when the white-haired Colonel not only enjoyed his company but was proud of him as well? His memory was a tricky thing and he couldn't be certain what he thought just now was true or not.

_Smith was laughing at you, not with you. He thinks you're crazy. He sat in that copilot's seat just to make sure you weren't going to go nuts and crash the plane. _

Colonel Jackson 'sounded' exasperated, if projected thoughts could have emotional tones. His 'voice' sounded almost worried.

Murdock heard the black Sergeant in the driver's seat grunt, then say, "He's awake again, Colonel. Starin' off inta space. Don' look like he's focusin' on anythin'. He jus' sittin' there not movin' at all."

Hannibal turned in his seat toward Face. "Keep an eye on him. If he starts to act like he's hallucinating, we'll have to stop the van and take care of it."

_'Take care of it' doesn't sound like Smith sees you as anything but a problem that needs to be dealt with. Doesn't it? Are you just a problem to him? _

Murdock kept his eyes staring dully ahead through the windshield but his mind was whirling in confusion. He had been with this A-team off and on for about fifteen years ever since Vietnam. In all that time, he had little reason to question their intentions.

After escaping the military prison and becoming fugitives, _they_ had found him in the VA hospital. _He_ hadn't found _them_. How could he, confined as he was to the psychiatric ward? They made the effort even though they risked being recaptured doing it. Was it all for the sake of having a pilot when they needed one?

But before he knew the team, as the Vietnam War claimed more and more American lives, Colonel Jackson befriended him in Los Angeles. He personally groomed him for the important mind experiments the CIA was running. When he was ready he got him in with Air America in Nam on a part-time basis. Did Jackson manipulate and use him, too? He tried to think but couldn't.

_Focus, Captain. That's an order! _

Colonel Jackson was definitely unhappy with him. The sharpness of his 'tone' surprised the Captain.

To Sergeant Baracus, Colonel Smith said, "We're almost to Hurricane. Find the first motel that looks like they won't ask questions if things get a bit loud and pull in there."

_I'm looking at a map now. Hurricane, huh? When you figure out what motel you'll be staying at, let me know. I'm on my way. _

Murdock squeezed his eyes shut. He 'felt' the Colonel's mind detach from his. The vacuum it left was immediately filled with a rush of bright images. Each one pulsed briefly, clamoring for attention, then dimmed to be replaced by another. It was like a rapidly moving slide show composed of disturbing and puzzling photos from his past. He couldn't tell which were imagination and which had a basis in reality.

The drained feeling he got when Jackson was monitoring his thoughts was as bad as the side effects of the sedative his former team mates administered to him.

For the moment, he had done what Jackson wanted. He pointed him toward their location. Did that mean the Colonel wasn't watching over him now?

He could not be certain. Mission be hanged! He had a lot to think about and wished he could do it in private.

'If I keep on pretendin' t' be outta it, maybe they'll slip up 'n' I'll find a way t' escape.'

At least that was what he hoped. He opened his eyes and watched for the opportunity.

They passed fast food restaurants, RV dealerships and a handful of well-known chain motels. His eyes fell on a roadside directional sign, brown with white lettering and arrows, in Hurricane's downtown. 'Zion Nat'l. Park, Grand Cyn. Nat'l. Park, Lake Powell,' he read. The van stayed on State Highway 9.

Before long Murdock realized they had left Hurricane behind. His stomach flip-flopped in alarm.

'Where th' hell're we goin'? Zion National Park?'

He decided not to let Colonel Jackson know they were not stopping. That image of Colonel Smith beside him in the cockpit of the getaway plane bothered him. So did the dim memories of one or two brutal interrogations Jackson and Henderson had conducted with Vietnamese villagers in his presence. Through the single ear bud he heard Buffalo Springfield sing 'For What It's Worth.'

_Paranoia strikes deep  
Inta your life it will creep  
It starts when you're always afraid  
Step outta line, th' man come 'n' take you away . . . _

He focused on a plan to go somewhere alone and as soon as possible. He needed to sort out reality before he lost his grip on it completely. If that meant disappearing and hiking in the backcountry to get away from all of them, so be it.

In the next half hour, Murdock thought about what he would have to have with him when he escaped. Money, his duffel bag, a knife or some other kind of weapon if he could gain access to it. He was so preoccupied with his plans, when the Sergeant pulled into the parking lot of the small motel, he momentarily panicked. Before anyone could notice, he forced his breathing to slow and his whole body to stay still.

'Calm down. If ya look like yer gonna bolt firs' chance ya get, they'll make _sure_ they don' letcha outta their sights,' he chided himself. He knew how to look like he was awake but unresponsive. He had used that trick too many times on orderlies and nurses back in the VA hospital when he was avoiding the darker sides of his psychiatric treatment plan.

The Lieutenant scrambled over his legs to get out. As he passed, he looked directly into the pilot's eyes. Seeing no response, the con man sighed and patted him on the knee before opening the door. Murdock resisted the urge to flinch away from the physical contact with him.

Amy, or was it Sky?, gently stroked his arm in an effort to communicate with him. Her eyes reflected her concern.

'My argument ain' with her. She's a good kid.' He couldn't let her know he understood or tell her his plans. She might want to go with him and, judging from the looks of the terrain around them, it would be dangerous for her. She was better off staying with these men even if he wasn't sure he could trust them with his own life.

The Colonel rolled down his window and propped his arm in the opening to address the con man who stretched and yawned beside the van. "Three rooms, Face. If you can get adjoining rooms, that would be best."

In about fifteen minutes, the Lieutenant was back with three room keys. "I couldn't get rooms that were side by side but two of them are close. If there's any trouble, we'll know about it. One of them's a kitchenette. That eliminates having to go out or order in."

The older man frowned back at Murdock as he got out. "Not the best arrangements but we might not be sleeping much anyway until the doctor corrects whatever's been done to our Captain."

The pilot didn't like the sounds of that. He would have to do something fairly quickly before they messed with his mind and made it even worse than it was. For now, he allowed the Lieutenant to lead him to one of the rooms and have him lie down on the bed.

He kept his eyes open for a while, taking in the details of where everyone was and how they were armed. When B. A. carried Murdock's duffel bag in and placed the white teddy bear within his reach, he almost sneered but forced his expression to remain impassive.

'Sure. That's what they think I am. Some sort o' li'l kid that needs his teddy bear t' chase 'way the boogie man.'

But the black Sergeant's gaze didn't seem condescending or patronizing. The dark eyes contemplated him for a few seconds. "Sure wish ya understood I don't mean ya no harm, fool. Wish you was back with us. I miss yer jibber-jabber." The Sergeant shook his head when all he got was a blank stare from the pilot. He left him to go back to the van for more bags and supplies.

'I'm 'lone. But for how many minutes?' The Captain shut his eyes and tried to concentrate on what he had to do. He didn't realize how tired he was and slipped off into a dreamless sleep.

A sudden stabbing pain in his temple diverted Murdock's attention and made him bring his hands up to his head. His fingertips brushed against someone else's hand. He narrowly avoided letting out a loud groan. When he opened his eyes, Colonel Smith sat beside him on the edge of the bed, peeling back the adhesive bandage over his temple. He trembled in fear but didn't have the energy to push the probing hands away.

The Colonel glared up at Doctor Stafford as he noted the stitches over the swollen bleeding surgical site. "Explain this to me, doctor, if you can."

From somewhere in the room, an angry voice rumbled displeasure. There was the sound of a big fist smacking into an open palm and Murdock shivered, preparing himself for the beating he was sure was going to follow.


	36. Chapter 36 Whatever It Takes

Every Thought Captive

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 36 Whatever It Takes

When B. A. made no further threatening gestures, Murdock apprehensively stared up into Colonel Smith's cool blue-eyed gaze. He didn't stop trembling but seemed to relax a little when the Sergeant stayed where he was.

Smith motioned with his head at the pilot and gave Peck an unspoken order. The con man nodded his understanding.

_It figures Hannibal would want me to do this. He knows Murdock won't let him or B. A. anywhere near him. _

The Lieutenant kissed Amy on the top of her head and released her. "Duty calls," he whispered, leaving her by the bathroom door.

He held up his hands in a conciliatory manner as he approached and eased himself on the bed beside his friend. Gently Face removed the ear buds from around Murdock's neck and the transistor radio clipped to the waistband of his pants.

As he did, the pilot threw out a trembling hand to grab them. He caught the con man's wrist but Face just transferred the devices from one hand to the other. Murdock's reaction and the urgency in his grip surprised him.

_He's had this radio on him ever since Granite Peak. It's time to find out why. _

"Those're mine!" he choked out. "Th' Colonel gave 'em t' me! Give 'em back!"

"Just a minute." Face listened to the music over one of the ear pieces. His expression turned grim. He shut his eyes and swallowed heavily as he realized why Jackson gave Murdock the equipment. "Damn him!" he whispered before looking up at his CO.

"Hannibal. I think you'd better hear this." He handed the ear buds to the Colonel.

Face noticed Murdock tracked the passing of the device from one man to the other with desperation in his gaze. Fear was returning to his friend's expression and the con man knew the pilot was losing touch with reality again. There was nothing Face could do to stop it except murmur the words he always used in the past and hope they worked.

"It's alright, buddy. We're not in Nam anymore. You're safe. You're with friends." He couldn't touch him. Murdock met every move to do that by jerking away from the hand that reached out to him.

After a few seconds of listening, the older man frowned, handed the ear pieces and radio to B. A. and turned to Doctor Stafford again. He lit a fresh cigar before addressing the scientist.

"Some explanations are in order, doctor." His voice took on a hard angry tone.

"It's no wonder he's been having flashbacks and nightmares, Hannibal. If I listened to those songs over and over again, I'd be caught in the past, too." Peck gave the doctor a cold angry stare before looking back into his friend's haunted eyes. "It'll be alright, buddy. We know what's going on now." He reached out to grasp his friend's upper arm and sighed in frustration when the pilot flinched away from him again.

"Don'! Don' touch me!"

A snarling guttural sound rose from inside B. A.'s throat as he listened to the music and noticed Murdock's reactions to the Lieutenant's attempts to comfort him. He hurled the ear buds and radio onto the motel's dresser and, in two steps, had the doctor's shirt collar bunched up in one hand. It was another violent action the pilot took as a potential threat to himself.

Murdock pushed himself up into a sitting position and scrambled as far away from Baracus, Smith and Peck as he could.

"My turn . . . my turn . . . " His rapid low mutter drew Amy's sympathy. She focused on her friend's pain and moved toward him. With one quick glance, Face warned her to stay where she was. In helplessness, she hugged her arms to herself and watched.

Murdock huddled near the farthest corner of the bed against the head-board, his knees drawn up and head hidden under his arms. It was the posture of someone defending himself against a potential beating . . . or protecting his mind from the horrors of the war around him.

Seeing that, Smith shook his head at the Sergeant. "Let him go, B. A."

Baracus growled one more time and shoved the scientist away from him as he released his grip. Stafford fell on his knees on the floor and slowly pulled himself up to have a seat on the bed. In a way, he was relieved that the question of the music on the radio replaced the one of the mysterious stitched wound on the pilot's head.

"I'm not responsible for whatever Jackson chose for our test subject to listen to. The music was meant to lull the subject into a more relaxed state so we could work with him easier."

It was a lie but he knew they wouldn't be able to figure that out. They didn't have the abilities Jackson had to tell truth from fiction. As long as they didn't destroy the radio and ear pieces and Murdock could get access to them when the time came for the next part of the plan, the doctor would continue to plead innocence.

"Well, it's the wrong kind of music. Jackson had to know that when he selected it." Hannibal stood in front of Stafford. He rested his hands on his hips and waited for answers.

"Really? I don't know what he's been listening to." The scientist raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms. _Another lie, but they don't know the difference_, Stafford thought.

Face moved slowly around the end of the bed toward his friend. He didn't know how close he could get before Murdock would react. He shot an accusatory look at the medical man. "Songs from home we used to hear over Armed Forces Radio. Anti-war protest songs we heard when we came back. Songs meant to trigger memories, most of them bad, if you have any bad memories hidden away. And Murdock does."

Hannibal squinted at the doctor through a cloud of cigar smoke. "And you mean to tell me you didn't have a part in choosing that particular music for him to listen to?"

Murdock rocked back and forth slightly. He started humming quietly to himself. The Lieutenant recognized it as something he used to hum when the guards were coming for him and abruptly stopped where he was.

_Don't go there, buddy. I don't know if we'll be able to get you back._

Face watched helplessly as the pilot's movements became more agitated and his breathing more ragged. Murdock's voice was shaky and he began to sing in a low voice.

"This ol' man,  
He played one.  
He played knick-knack on mah thumb . . . "

It was a song from Face's own childhood, one the sisters didn't like but which some of the kids knew before they came to live in the orphanage. They, in turn, taught the others when the sisters weren't listening.

He didn't know why Murdock sang it so often before and after beatings, when he withdrew into the darkness of his own mind. Some childhood thing? Something to do with the father Murdock never spoke about? Face didn't know for sure.

"I didn't choose the music. I told you. Jackson wants your pilot dead because of something in their past. Maybe that's why he chose that kind of music." Stafford took out his cigarettes and removed one with shaking fingers. He barely got it lit.

B. A. took a step toward him, his muscles tight with the pent-up rage he felt toward the men who did so much damage to his team mate's mind. As he did, Hannibal put out his hands to stop him. A warning was in his steel-gray eyes. "Don't." The single word seemed not to have any effect on the burly Sergeant as he tried to push past the Colonel to get to the doctor.

oooooo

As Jackson started on the road toward Hurricane, Utah, he kept his attention divided between the road ahead and what Murdock was thinking.

It was no surprise to him that the Lieutenant would remove the ear pieces and radio from the Captain. He knew it was a matter of time before someone on the team would find out about the music the pilot was listening to.

_The next part of the plan will have to be through remote mind control. He has to get the radio and ear pieces back to complete the mission. _

When Murdock slipped into the memory of the POW camp without any assistance from the music or from Jackson himself, he frowned. That meant the pilot was becoming more unstable than he planned.

_That might become a problem when he goes to get that job piloting Cazador's plane. _

Stafford was arguing with the white-haired Colonel. A small part of Murdock's mind was still engaged with what was going on around him. Jackson supposed he had done that in the POW camp as a defense mechanism: one part of his mind on alert while most of his mind retreated somewhere deeper inside.

"Jackson wants your pilot dead because of something in their past." Murdock heard that single sentence clearly.

The Colonel sensed the pilot turning it over in his mind, trying to make sense of the statement. Sooner or later Murdock might remember all the reasons Jackson wanted him eliminated. He might believe it and refuse to cooperate.

_I can't let that happen. He has a job to do first. _

The confrontation among Smith, Baracus and Stafford gave Jackson the distraction he needed. He focused his thoughts and gave the pilot a remote command.

_You have to escape. Now, while the Lieutenant's attention is diverted. _

oooooo

Face stared with horrified fascination at the impending situation. He was hardly aware when Murdock stopped his rocking and singing. Raising his head from his knees, the pilot looked around as if waking from a dream. His gaze settled on the man in front of him.

It all happened so suddenly that Face couldn't have reacted. One minute Murdock seemed to be trapped in his own memories. In the next, his left hand gripped the Lieutenant's arm and twisted it behind his back while his right forearm hooked around his throat.

"That's 'nough," the pilot snarled.

The other occupants of the room turned toward them and froze in place. For a few seconds Face's harsh breaths were all that could be heard.

"Toss yer weapons on th' bed." When Hannibal and B. A. didn't immediately respond, Face felt his friend's arm tighten around his windpipe. Sputtering and gasping, he reached up with his free hand and clawed at the arm around his throat. He had forgotten how strong Murdock could be when adrenaline was pumping through his system.

"Better do what he says," Hannibal muttered, his eyes not leaving the crazed expression on the Captain's face.

oooooo

It was working better than Jackson had anticipated. He wondered how far Murdock would go to make his escape. Could he be persuaded to kill the man he held as a prisoner? Jackson smiled.

_Tell the doctor to gather the guns. Make sure he gets your duffel bag and the radio and ear buds. Then do whatever it takes to make sure these men do not follow you. _


	37. Chapter 37 Finish the Job

Every Thought Captive

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 37 Finish the Job

Face gasped for air and clutched at Murdock's arm. By now, he was certain his skin tone must be an uncomplimentary shade of purplish-red. Not that his skin tone mattered when his best friend was attempting to squeeze the life out of him.

Murdock showed no signs of lessening the stranglehold on the con man's throat. The pressure increased as B. A. and Hannibal removed all of their weapons and dropped them on the bed.

"That's all of them, Captain. Let him go." Hannibal's voice was low and guarded. He raised his hands shoulder level in surrender and urged B. A. to do the same with a small warning glance.

"Is that all of 'em, Lieutenant? You should know. Is it?" the pilot hissed into Face's ear. He twisted the con man's left arm higher up on his back and tightened his grip around his neck. He kept his gaze on the Colonel and the Sergeant, looking for any sudden movement or signs of deception from them.

Face gasped out a "Yes," his fingers unsuccessfully tearing at the leather jacket sleeve.

"Doctor Stafford, if ya wouldn' mind gettin' t'gether those guns 'n' puttin' 'em in my duffel bag over there." He motioned with his head at the olive drab bag. "'Cept . . . 'cept for that Browning there. That one's mine. Bring that one t' me."

The doctor clearly did not know which gun the pilot meant so he held up each one in turn until Murdock nodded impatiently that he had the right one. "I s'pose ya don' know how t' check t' see if it's loaded either," he sneered with disgust.

The scientist shrugged his shoulders, muttering, "I don't need to know about weapons when my life's been spent in the laboratory."

"I know how to check it, Murdock." Amy took a step toward the bed and waited for him to accept her help. She kept her eyes steadily on him, not daring to look at Face just in case she should lose her nerve. _If I can figure a way to keep the real rounds away from him, _she thought.

Hannibal and B. A. both noticed the pilot's eyes soften when he analyzed the reporter's expression. "Make sure it's loaded, Sky," he murmured, finally comfortable she wasn't lying to him to protect the Lieutenant. "Then we're gonna blow this joint. You, me 'n' the doc."

As Amy took the handgun from the medical man's hands, Murdock gestured with his head toward the dresser top. He kept his focus on the two men standing with their hands in the air. "Get that radio 'n' ear buds for me." The doctor turned to obey and the pilot added, "Oh, 'n' the keys t' th' van out there, too. We're gonna take a li'l ride."

Amy gave Hannibal a cryptic glance as she finished checking the Browning's magazine. Hannibal returned her look with a grim smile and a nod to continue.

Approaching the Captain, she slipped the gun into his right hand. Removing his arm from Face's throat, he placed the barrel of the pistol against the con man's temple but kept the Lieutenant's other arm secured behind his back. "Sky, Doc. Go out 'n' get that van runnin'. I gotta talk t' these three b'fore we go."

He noticed Sky give the con man a frightened look before obeying his command. With a slight smirk, the doctor held his hand out to B. A. for the keys. Growling with a menacing tone, the Sergeant removed the keys from the pocket of his overalls and dropped them into his palm. He gave the doctor a ferocious scowl.

"You wreck my ride, man, I wreck you when I catch up wit' ya."

From where he stood holding the Lieutenant, Murdock let out a bitter laugh. "Still makin' threats, huh, Big Guy?"

Startled by the growled warning and the Captain's reaction, Stafford peered at him for a moment as if undecided what to do next.

"I'll be out soon's I can. Now git!" Murdock hissed the command through gritted teeth.

The door opened and closed behind the doctor without the pilot watching. Only when Stafford was out of the room did Murdock speak again.

"I been told t' make sure ya don' follow us. Only way I know I can do that for sure's t' kill all three of ya." The Captain narrowed his eyes at Smith. "Ya shoulda let me finish my mission. Ya shouldn't o' followed me in there. Wouldn't hafta do this if ya stayed 'way."

He aimed the gun at Hannibal's head and pulled the trigger.

oooooo

Amy was in the rear passenger's seat when the doctor got in the driver's side and turned the key in the ignition.

"Where's Murdock?" she stammered, peering to look out of the windshield at the closed motel room door.

The doctor tapped out another cigarette from his pack and stuck it between his lips. Applying the van's lighter to the tip, he drew in a deep breath and savored it before exhaling the smoke. "He said he had to talk to them."

"About what?" Amy frowned.

Stafford shrugged. "He just said he'd be out as soon as he could."

The first gunshot made the reporter jerk slightly and look with horrified eyes at the motel. It didn't seem as loud as a gunshot should be but the walls of the room could have muffled the sound. By the fourth retort, she was rocking in her seat and crying. "No . . . no . . . "

The room door opened and Murdock came out, tucking the pistol in the waistband of his pants. Before he could shut the door, Amy caught a glimpse of Face lying prostrate on the floor. She could not see Hannibal or B. A.

Murdock climbed into the seat usually occupied by Hannibal. "Drive, Doc," he muttered.

"Where to?"

"Head east. T'ward th' park." His voice was quiet and emotionless. After a minute went by, a shudder went through his body and he blinked several times at the roadside scenery. He passed a shaking hand over his mouth. Sitting with his right arm propped on the window, his slender fingers hid his closed eyes from view.

"What did you do to them, Murdock? What'd you do to Hannibal, to B. A. . . . to Face?" Amy grabbed his jacket sleeve to get his attention. He turned to her, his gaze puzzled and anxious.

He shook his head. "I don' know. My mind went cold-like. I heard a gun goin' off. Wasn' very loud. Didn' sound real close. 'N' then I saw 'em fall one by one. Did I shoot 'em?"

The reporter clamped a hand to her mouth to stifle her cry and shrank back in the van seat. She stared horrified at the pilot. Her body trembled as she wept.

"How . . . could you . . . do that? How could . . . you?" she gasped out between sobs.

Murdock looked at her with stunned eyes and shivered as he tried to remember. The last half hour or so had been like an out-of-body experience for him. He watched everything from someone else's eyes but a blurry haze clouded most of it. His body was numb to all feeling.

Someone held the Lieutenant in a choke-hold. Someone ordered B. A. and Hannibal to give up their weapons. Someone fired a gun three, maybe four, times. The men he had known as one-time friends and family dropped one by one after each retort.

"Oh God, no," he rasped under his breath. He leaned forward in his seat and clutched his head in his hands, suddenly nauseous at the thought of what he had done. Squeezing his eyes shut, he fought the urge to vomit. _Big Guy wouldn' like vomit all over th' front seat o' his ride. _

Then he realized it probably wouldn't matter. He hadn't had time to sort out his conflicting memories about the team and now they were gone. Had he shot them down?

_You didn't obey my orders. You didn't make sure you finished the job. You should have put a bullet in each of their heads. One of them might still be alive. That was very foolish to shoot and run, Captain. _

"Colonel Jackson." Murdock whispered the name and swallowed hard. He heard the voice over the top of Sky's sobs in the back seat. He didn't want to hear it but he couldn't shut it out. It just confirmed that the 'someone' who he had vaguely seen doing all the shooting back in the Hurricane motel was him.

_Where are you going, Captain Murdock? Don't try to run away. Your country needs you. Tell the doctor to turn around. Now. _

He had to figure out a way to hide from Jackson's mind probes. He needed time to think. For now, he wouldn't answer Jackson's question. He would not obey the order. _Let 'im try 'n' find me. _

He dully stared out the side window at the rounded mountains and striated plateaus and buttes. The scenery should have been breathtaking but he could find no pleasure in its spectacular beauty. It was almost certain he had killed three people to gain his freedom. Funny, he didn't feel he had escaped anything.

If he did what Sky said he did, he didn't want her to be around him. The best way to avoid hurting her and the doctor would be to get out of the van somewhere and hike inland away from civilization, away from them. If Jackson found him, he would be alone to confront him and ask him the truth of what he was being asked to do. He suspected it involved more killing.

"Sky?" He hoped she would listen to him. She seemed almost in a state of shock over his crime.

The young woman raised her head to look at him. Her red-rimmed eyes scrutinized him as if he were a stranger. But he had her attention.

"Sky, I want ya t' take all of those guns outta my bag. I won't need 'em. 'N' give me my radio 'n' ear buds." He watched in the rear-view mirror as she hesitated and then slowly obeyed him.

Slipping the ear buds in place and turning on the radio, he leaned back in the seat and watched for a good place to tell Doctor Stafford to pull over.

Over the ear pieces Bob Dylan sang his sad refrain. Each verse seemed to tell Murdock what he needed to do to set his mind at peace.

_Mama, put my guns in the ground  
I can't shoot them anymore.  
That long black cloud is comin' down.  
I feel I'm knockin' on Heaven's door._

_Knock, knock, knockin' on Heaven's door . . ._


	38. Chapter 38 Mind Reader

Every Thought Captive

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 38 Mind Reader

There were no maps of the immediate area in either the glove compartment or on the dashboard.

_Strange. Th' Colonel is . . . was . . . usually ready for action no matter where we went. _

Murdock let out a long frustrated sigh as his search turned up nothing to help him. The only way to find a place he could hide out and decide what to do next was to engage his mind in remote viewing. Somehow he had to escape Jackson and Stafford for a while and that seemed to be his only avenue to do it.

The pilot knew it would rekindle excruciatingly blinding migraine headaches and bad memories. That part of remote viewing always made him reluctant to use it in the past. Only in emergencies was his rule, but this qualified as an emergency, didn't it?

_Jus' hope Jackson don' figure out where I'm gonna go 'n' what I'm gonna do. Bastard's been able t' track ev'ry move I make when he's focused on me. But I gotta try. _

For a moment he wondered how difficult it would be to figure out how to return the favor and be able to read what the military man was thinking at any time. Something was starting to nag at him about Jackson's persistence.

_I can't be th' only guy for th' job. Knowin' what he's thinkin'd sure help me know what th' hell he's tryin' t' do with me 'n' if he's bein' honest. _

But there was no time to waste in trying to train himself to do that now. He had to get away by himself. Maybe then.

From his jacket pocket he removed a crumpled, smudged piece of paper and a pencil stub, the metal band around the eraser crimped from his nervous habit of chewing on it when deep in thought. He relaxed into the Colonel's seat and let the strains of Beethoven's 'Moonlight Sonata' soothe him.

For several seconds he drifted along in the gentle piano triads of the opening strain. His brain waves settled into the theta pattern and the next moment his detached spirit body careened through the tunnel of flashing images to a position high above Zion National Park. It had become easier for him to pierce the ether and transcend distance and time on his own. He frowned at that thought.

_Practice makes perfect, I guess. _

He saw someone on a trail which ascended almost to the summit of one of the highest mountains in the southwest corner of the park. The person wore a bomber jacket and cap identical to his so he assumed it must be him sometime in the future. No hikers seemed to be traversing the rugged terrain in this area. No one but him.

Somewhere on that mountain would be a perfect place to hide away from Colonel Jackson and everyone else. Satisfied, his spirit traced the worn path to the spot where another trail converged with it and descended over a dry waterfall clogged with trees. The new trail along a wash led his spirit to State Highway 9. He took note of the location, paying attention to side roads and other geographical features.

When he allowed his spirit to reunite with his physical body, he looked down at the paper smoothed out on his knee. On it he had drawn a horizontal zigzagged line with one peak more prominent than the others. On the right side of the page he had written the words 'Kinesava,' 'Huber' and 'Chinle.' Under the first line was a primitive sketch of what looked like three trails, one of which led to the mountain. The other two ended at the highway.

His head swam with the lingering bright slide show images that always accompanied a remote viewing session. Three consecutive memories struck him with brutal force and caused him to suck in a guilt-ridden breath. First the Colonel crumpled to the floor, then the black Sergeant and finally the Lieutenant. He didn't see blood but he was certain they looked lifeless enough. The gun in his hand was proof he had shot them. He jerked the ear buds out and squeezed his eyes tightly shut.

_I killed 'em. They didn' deserve t' die, but I shot 'em down anyway. What kind o' person am I? _

For several seconds he covered his face with his hands, willing the images and the stabbing headache to go away.

_Stop it! Stop it! _

"Murdock? Murdock, are you all right?"

It was Sky's voice, cutting through the pain, confusion and anguish that clouded his thoughts. Sky always was able to make the worst nightmares retreat into the furthest most inaccessible recesses of his mind. That was what earned her the special pet name only he used for her. She was as precious as the azure blue sky above to him. She was a lifeline to peace.

Slowly he brought his hands down and forced them to be motionless in his lap. Keeping the self-loathing and fear out of his voice was more difficult than he imagined.

_She's gonna know somethin's up. She ain' stupid. _

He paused and tried to think of what he could say to persuade her to let him leave without her. "Sky? Darlin'? I'm gonna hafta go 'way for a while, get my head all straightened out." He risked a glance back at her in the rear-view mirror, then wished he hadn't. Her face transformed back and forth between Amy's Caucasian features and the Asian characteristics of Sky.

_Why's it keep on doin' that? _

Whichever one she was, Amy or Sky, she still had a horrified look on her face. He knew she was frightened of him and what he had become.

_'N' what is that? A killer lunatic? Or a loony killer? _

He trained his eyes on the landscape outside of the driver's side window, watching for the place on the road he saw in his viewing session. Anything to shut out her accusatory looks. "You gotta let me go, Sky. Ain' no d'bate 'bout this. I'm goin' 'way for a while. That's final."

"Murdock." He focused on her voice. Her single word sent a wave of emotion through him as if he intimately shared her thoughts and fears.

_She's 'fraid o' me but she's even more scared o' what I'm gonna do if I'm all 'lone. _

He shook his head. He wasn't watching her body language or her facial expressions. Her vocal tone might have given him that information but he wasn't sure.

_How do I know what she's thinkin'? Is that all there is t' readin' someone's thoughts? _

The knowledge made him uncomfortable. It meant that at any time, Jackson could tap into his brain and learn his intentions and suspicions. Unless he figured out how to construct a block against that happening.

But it also meant something else more useful. Maybe he wouldn't have to confront Colonel Jackson face to face. Maybe he could find out what he needed to know from a distance.

_But do I wanna know? I killed 'em. I killed th' guys. I got no one who cares 'bout whether I'm dead 'r 'live 'xcept Sky, 'n' she can barely stand t' look at me now b'cause o' what I done. _

He rubbed his eyes with one hand before paying closer attention to the scenery to his left. They had been on the road for only about ten minutes. He was so absorbed with the remote viewing session and his scrambled thoughts he hardly noticed leaving the eastern outskirts of Hurricane.

The van was beginning to steadily climb through sections of lowland sagebrush flats and occasional red Navajo sandstone rock cuts on either side of the road. Rounded mountains and flat-topped plateaus, mesas and buttes formed a distant backdrop to the desert vegetation.

Outside of La Verkin, they passed a parked pickup truck with a pop-up camper hitched to the back. A couple that looked like they were in their sunset years gawked at them before returning to their unfolded map.

_Doubt they're goin' where I plan on goin'. _

The woman bore a very faint resemblance to his own Gramma.

_Or am I jus' 'maginin' that? _

Seconds later to his left he saw the striated black, red and yellow layers of the eastern foothills of Hurricane Mesa. He was beginning to think he didn't "see" his destination correctly.

_Brother? Where are you going? _

It sounded like it could be Billy's voice but without the inflections his baby brother usually had when he spoke to Murdock. Something wasn't right.

_Billy? Why d'ya stop talkin' t' me? _

He wasn't about to let the phantom voice in his head know where he was going until he could verify it was Billy.

_Come on, brother. Tell me. Wherever you go, I'll go with you. No one will find you. We'll talk and everything will be all right. _

A whisper from somewhere deep inside him told him what he needed to know. _Don' listen t' him. He wants t' kill ya._

Definitely not Billy then. The pilot welcomed the small whisper that was the real Billy with a relieved sigh. _I'll talk t' ya later when I'm somewhere safe, li'l brother._

The voice that wasn't Billy almost growled with anger. _Damn you, Captain! Tell me where you are. Your mission waits. _

He had to keep busy and not answer, not let the Colonel see or know anything he didn't want him to. Murdock removed the Browning from the back waistband of his pants and glanced back at Sky. "When we stop, I wantcha t' use th' key on the key ring t' open th' locker back there. I need t' have 'nother box o' cartridges. That 'n' three 'r four bottles o' water. Put 'em in my bag."

"What about food?" she murmured, her eyes wide with the understanding of what he might want to do.

He gave her a weak smile, thankful she was at least concerned about him after what he did to the Lieutenant and his friends. "Won' need it. I'll be fine." With another frown, he carefully removed his jacket and handed it to Amy. "Won' be needin' this either. Day's hot 'n' I want someone I can trust t' take good care o' it." When she sputtered out a protest, he twisted in the seat and put a finger to her lips. "I need t' travel light, Sky. This'll weigh me down." He gave her another smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Her tears just about made him reconsider. He set his mouth in a firm line and turned to the front.

Pointing to the left side of the road at a dirt parking area ten minutes east of the community of Virgin, he mumbled instructions to Doctor Stafford.

"Park here. Then let Sky have th' keys for a moment."

As soon as they stopped, he took off his flannel long sleeve shirt and tucked it into the duffel bag along with the water Amy handed him. She paused with the box of ammunition in her hands.

"Please, Murdock? Don't go. Don't do this."

He swallowed and put his hand out, palm facing up. His eyes met hers and, for a moment, neither of them moved or spoke.

"Please? Don't."

He dropped his gaze and prodded at the gravel under his feet with the toe of his sneaker. When he looked up again, his eyes were watery. Gently he insisted. "I hafta, chica."

Without another word, he removed the box from her hands. Before turning to his bag, he gave Amy a quick kiss on the cheek and caressed her hair with his hand.

"Take care o' this li'l lady, doc. Make sure she gets back t' L. A. safe, 'kay?"

Stafford nodded and took the keys back. Getting in the van, he took the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and handed them to Murdock. "Want one?"

The pilot hesitated, then took one and lit it with a lighter Hannibal kept in the glove compartment. "Thanks, doc." He pocketed the lighter, sadly reflecting that the Colonel would no longer need it for his prized cigars. With the cigarette in his mouth, he escorted Sky to the front seat of the van and helped her in. "I know sorry doesn't begin to help with the pain you feel right now. It's all I can say, Sky." He brushed a stray bit of hair back from her face and tucked it behind her ear. Then he shut the door and stepped away.

He waited until he saw the van turn around to return to Hurricane before putting the ear buds in and starting out on the Huber Wash Trail.

_They're gonna have some questions t' answer 'bout those murders. They should tell th' truth 'n' send the cops after me. By then maybe it won' matter. _

At the gate leading to the park boundary, he took a last draw on the cigarette and crushed it underfoot. He had another pack in the duffel bag. Those would wait until he got to Mount Kinesava.

oooooo

Three miles down the road, Amy glared across at Doctor Stafford. "And now you can turn around and take me back there. I'm not about to leave him alone to do whatever he thinks he needs to do."

"What about your friends? Don't you need to make arrangements?" The medical man scowled at what she was asking him to do.

"I'm not going to lose Murdock, too. No, doctor, you go back and answer the questions. If I can, I'll persuade him to come back to face the authorities. He knows it's the right thing to do. He's just confused right now."

She moved to the back and stuffed four water bottles in a pack along with a towel and an extra pair of socks. After a second thought, she tossed in several bags of M & Ms and a large package of beef jerky. She lingered over the handguns and finally decided against carrying one. She didn't want Murdock to see her as a threat. Tying a scarf around her head as a sweat band, she waited until the doctor parked and then left the van in a hurry.

"Just don't let them know where Murdock is. Let me try to talk to him. Okay? Keep his jacket safe for him. I'll bring him back to Hurricane if I can." Without waiting for an answer, Amy shouldered her pack and headed in the same direction the pilot had taken.


	39. Chapter 39 Suspicious Minds

Every Thought Captive

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 39 Suspicious Minds

Doctor Stafford scowled as he drove the van back to Hurricane.

_This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. He forced me to leave him back there at that trailhead. _

He had hoped if he got Murdock and Miss Allen alone, he could persuade the Captain to lay low for a while. He wanted to fine-tune the neuroelectromagnetic implant. When the burly black man cuffed the pilot across the head with his open hand back at the campground to get him to listen to reason, he must have somehow damaged the device.

_But if Murdock murdered his friends, he wouldn't think twice about killing me. _

Stafford wasn't sure if the triple homicide he witnessed was the result of Jackson's mind control or the malfunctioning implant. He hoped to sedate the pilot and check it out. He knew he would have to distract the reporter or get her out of the way first but that was a minor problem. A greater concern was Jackson and what he intended to do.

The Colonel seemed unwilling to allow Murdock to leave Project Silent Arrow. Stafford wondered if the Colonel had programmed more than Cazador's assassination and the weapon destruction into the commands waiting to be triggered in the pilot's cerebral cortex.

_I'm not sure Jackson sees me as indispensable anymore. Maybe I was supposed to be murdered, too. _

A sudden thought turned his stomach.

_Was this that test Jackson and I discussed? The one that would see if the Captain would be willing to sacrifice something . . . or someone . . . he loved when commanded to do so? If it was, it worked. He did. _

The doctor passed the motel where they had stayed and did a double-take. Turning left into a parking lot and going back the way he had come, he slowed down as he neared the motel.

_For a place that's had three people murdered in cold blood, things are really quiet. _

Everything on the exterior seemed to be exactly the way they had left it. No yellow crime scene tape, no police cars, nothing.

He was certain the gunshots were loud enough to attract some sort of attention. But everything was as if nothing had happened at all.

Puzzled, Doctor Stafford parked the van in front of the motel and slipped through the door and into the air-conditioned office.

The woman perched behind the desk peered at him from over the top of half-rimmed glasses. Her unnaturally brassy red hair contrasted with the multiple wrinkles that creased her face. She had to be at least seventy years old.

"Room?" She cocked an eyebrow and slid the guest register closer to the edge of the counter. "Need you to sign in first."

He was surprised she did not recognize him until he realized that Colonel Smith had limited what the motel owners could see of any of them. The only one she had interacted with was the Lieutenant.

_Must be part of living the life of a fugitive, knowing how to stay out of sight so no one can identify you. _

"Uh, no. I'm actually not looking for a room. Some friends of mine were going to check in here. They would have paid for three rooms for at least two nights. There were six adults in the party. The man who would have checked them in was in his late 30s, blonde hair, a nice smile." As he described the con man, he noted the woman's lips purse together in disapproval. She wagged her head back and forth impatiently.

"They ain't here no more. My husband and I run a quiet motel. We expect our guests to keep the noise down. I don't know where the other three went, but I had to evict the three men in unit seven."

"Oh? What happened?" He tried his best to sound mildly curious.

She scanned him from head to toe before answering. "It sounded like they were shooting a gun but it wasn't really loud. Maybe they used a silencer like in those cop shows. Four shots. When my husband went to check it out, they said we were mistaken. They said it was a car backfiring. Liars!" She sniffed and crossed her arms on the counter in front of her. "My husband didn't see any guns or any damage to the room but we weren't gonna take our chances. We don't want any trouble. We didn't call the cops but we threatened to if they didn't pack up and get out."

"And they did?" The doctor blinked at her. The information that the three men were still alive shocked him. Both the Captain and Miss Allen believed the pilot murdered them. He did, too, until now.

"Watched them start hiking into town with their bags over their shoulders. Don't know where they went and don't want to know. Just as long as they don't come back here." She gave him one more wary once-over. "And if you're their friend, maybe you should find somewhere else to stay. Like I said, we don't want any trouble around here."

He nodded absently and turned to leave. "Oh, I doubt I'll be staying for long in Hurricane. Thanks for the information," he murmured before closing the office door behind him.

He was fairly certain Jackson was on his way to intercept Murdock and Stafford. The military man may have read the Captain's mind all along.

_Maybe he still is. If he is, he'll know where Murdock's heading and he'll know he's alone. Unless Miss Allen has caught up with him. _

The pilot's team would try to track their friend and the reporter down as well.

He needed to get a cup of coffee somewhere, have a cigarette and plan his next move. Working with Jackson to find the test subject was out of the question. If they managed to get Murdock back in their hands, the military man would not let him out of his sight until Silent Arrow was finished. And Stafford couldn't be sure the Colonel had not tampered with the trigger commands. A chill went up the doctor's spine.

_Maybe Jackson told Murdock to kill all of us and he didn't complete the orders. Maybe the next time, he'll finish the job. _

If that was the case, he shouldn't try to find the pilot at all. Still pondering that thought, Stafford climbed into the driver's seat of the van and turned the key in the ignition.

In the next moment, the doctor felt the barrel of a gun against the base of his neck and heard the click of a safety being released.

"Where's Murdock? Tell us or I'll let the Sergeant here practice some interrogation techniques on you. He learned most of them from the VC." Colonel Smith's voice was cold and threatening as the van engine idled and Stafford tried to think of an answer that would protect him from B. A. Baracus.

oooooo

Amy attempted to keep out of sight and back far enough so that Murdock could not recognize her. The Huber Wash Trail offered very little in the way of hiding places. Early on, Amy decided that she should try to look like a fellow hiker. She didn't want to arouse suspicion and make him run from her.

_Not that anyone would want to run in this heat. _

Uncapping one of the bottles, she took a swallow of lukewarm water.

_I wonder if Murdock is keeping himself hydrated. It must be in the 90s out here. _

She recapped the bottle, put it back in the pack and adjusted the scarf around her head. The pilot showed no signs of slowing his pace.

_Where is he going? _

A raspy scream alerted Amy to the red-tailed hawk high above her. A desert cottontail, its brownish fur blending with the rocky soil, hid under a clump of brittlebush. The shrub was in full bloom with orange-yellow blossoms. Disturbed by her sudden appearance, the rabbit scrambled across open ground and disappeared into a grouping of datil yucca plants. The last thing she saw of it was the white underside of its tail as it fled the predator in the sky.

A rock shifted under her foot and made her stumble. Getting her balance again, she glared ahead of her at the rocky wash. That small diversion had widened the distance between herself and Murdock.

He increased his pace as she watched. She moaned softly, a hint of desperation creeping into her voice. "Please slow down. I can't keep up."

_But it doesn't matter. I have to. _

She sucked in a breath and forced her feet to move faster.

oooooo

Murdock spotted the female hiker behind him but didn't know who she was at that distance. Sky and Doctor Stafford were on their way to Hurricane and that was all that mattered. The last thing he remembered of Sky was her anxious gaze as he gave instructions to the scientist.

_She knew she won' ever see me 'gain. _

As soon as the thought came into his mind, he tried to brush it away. It hurt too much deep inside to dwell now on what he did and who he left behind.

_It's better for everyone, Sky included, if I disappear 'n' never come back. Let Jackson fin' someone else for th' mission. _

The woman was at least a half mile or more away. He was sure once the heat of the day became oppressive, she would turn back and he would be alone again. Only then would he consider slowing his pace. In the meanwhile, he had to be far enough away that the woman would not suspect he was anything but a hiker enjoying nature at its most majestic.

_She might try 'n' stop me. _

He didn't try to figure out what she would be stopping him from doing. Suicide was a dark specter wandering the perimeter of his guilt-ridden thoughts.

In the distance, the reddish-orange spire of Mount Kinesava thrust itself toward dark clouds in the overcast sky. It was the mountain he saw in his remote viewing session. Of that, he was certain.

Despite his surroundings, his mood sank further into despair. The gun and box of ammo weighed heavily in the duffel bag. Sweat beaded on his forehead, trickled down his back and stained the underarms of his T-shirt. He couldn't stop to drink water or rest.

_I gotta reach that mountain b'fore nightfall. That's th' only place I'm gonna be able t' think 'n' figure out what I gotta do next. _

Until he found the place on Kinesava from his remote viewing session, he had to keep going.

oooooo

As Colonel Jackson drove toward Hurricane, he attempted to "see" through Murdock's eyes to get an idea of where he currently was but the distance was a barrier.

_Either that or Murdock has learned how to block me out. _

His last communication with the pilot through telepathic thought had not been successful.

_Correction. It was a failure. _

The military man cursed himself for attempting to fool the Captain.

_I thought it would be easy to persuade him that I was his inner voice but he's too well-acquainted with what that sounds like to be fooled. _

For the first time since he began preparing the pilot for Project Silent Arrow, Jackson doubted his ability to control Murdock.

_I must find Stafford. He'll know where the Captain is._

And after the doctor helped him recapture the test subject, it would be unnecessary to keep the medical man around until the mission was completed. Jackson smiled grimly and increased his speed. Hurricane and the Captain were only about thirty miles away.


	40. Chapter 40 Heat

Every Thought Captive

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 40 Heat

"Where's Murdock? Tell us or I'll let the Sergeant here practice some interrogation techniques on you. He learned most of them from the VC."

If he hadn't heard the voice, he would have thought it was a nightmare come true. Being careful to shift only his eyes until they located the Colonel's reflection in the rearview mirror, Doctor Stafford stifled his first reaction.

_No. Bolting from the van will likely get me a bullet in the back at this point. _

"How . . . ?" he managed to croak over the lump of fear in the back of his throat. He focused on the steel-gray eyes of the man that he thought was dead.

He wasn't reassured by the chilling smile that spread slowly across the Colonel's face.

"Wrong answer but I'll let that one go. Do you mind explaining, Face?"

"Not at all, Colonel. Blanks. Real bullets were in the bottom of the magazine. Just enough there so that if he checked, he would think the gun was loaded with live ammo." That was the Lieutenant's voice. There was a trace of wry amusement in the tone.

"You mean, you didn't trust your own man, Smith?" The doctor chided himself for asking such an obvious question but he had to buy some time to think his way through this situation.

Instead of answering, the Colonel gestured with his head toward State Highway 9. "Start driving. If the owners of this establishment see us out here with you, we'll get some unwanted attention from the local authorities."

"Where to?" Stafford gripped the steering wheel tightly. He had no options available to him. The black Sergeant had not removed the barrel of the gun from the base of his skull.

"Wherever you dropped him and Miss Allen off, doc. And they'd better be in good health."

Stafford turned the van toward the southwestern entrance to Zion National Park and hoped the pilot and reporter had not succumbed to the heat of the midsummer desert conditions in Huber Wash.

oooooo

Murdock had not realized how hot the late afternoon could be on the wash trail he was hiking.

He removed his cap and drew a sweaty wrist across his forehead. Beads of moisture sprang back up within seconds after he adjusted the cap back on his head. Looking down at his T-shirt, he realized there was barely a part of it that wasn't drenched.

_Maybe this ain' such a good idea after all. _

Glancing back, he noted that the female hiker, his shadow, had shortened the distance between them. She was still far enough behind. If he should pull out his Browning and place the barrel under his chin, she would not know what had happened until she heard the shot and saw him crumple to the ground.

_But that ain' what I gotta do right now. I can make that d'cision soon as I've had time t' think. _

And that choice would wait until he got to Mount Kinesava and the place he saw in his remote viewing session.

oooooo

Colonel Jackson tried once again to locate the Captain. He was within five minutes of Hurricane. Instead of a clear picture of Murdock's surroundings, he "saw" a progression of corpses that currently littered the pilot's thoughts.

Some he recognized from interrogations Henderson and he had conducted in Nam, brutal questioning which Murdock witnessed as one of Henderson's men. One image was of the teenaged Vietnamese girl the Captain had befriended. Another was the body of the Lieutenant who had posed as the geology professor in the attempt to free Murdock.

He could only guess at the identity of two or three of the others. The NVA soldier lying on his back on the jungle trail? The Vietnamese man with blood spurting from the slash across his carotid artery, his heart slowing and stopping? That had to be the one the ex-POW Captain remembered as Ferret. The only reason Jackson knew the name was because he had gained access to Murdock's deepest thoughts, memories the pilot had buried.

Jackson sniffed in disdain.

_Murdock never did get used to what we had to do over there in Nam. It's too bad really. With all the training we gave him and his intelligence and devotion to his country, he could have been the best in our arsenal of assassins. _

Jackson had to pull over when the first twinge of pain assaulted his head. For a few minutes, the Colonel rubbed at his temples with the palms of both hands but the pain worsened.

_The Captain must be getting a headache. It might mean he's out in the heat. But I can't get a good idea of where he's at. He's too disoriented. _

The Colonel decided to change his focus. No point in suffering along with Murdock. His new target was Doctor Stafford. He couldn't read the medical man's mind but he could find him through a remote viewing session. He would find Stafford and force him to lead him to the pilot.

oooooo

Murdock felt the faint drum beat of a headache starting in his temples. Stopping for a moment, he removed his cap again and tried to massage out the tension with his fingertips.

_Heat's prob'ly jus' gettin' t' me, but th' music ain' helpin' any. _

Impatiently, he removed the ear buds, turned off the radio and tossed them into the bag. His fingers traced the stitches Smith had discovered. He didn't remember clearly how they got there, only that the doctor had something to do with it.

_Did I get hurt 'n' the doc had t' stitch me up? _

He found a large boulder in the dry stream bed and sat down. Rummaging in his bag, he drew out a bottle of water and unscrewed the top to take a drink. He grimaced and forced himself to gulp down several mouthfuls of the tepid liquid before replacing the cap.

Seconds later, his stomach revolted and doubled him up with a cramp.

_Might not make it t' th' mountain, I guess. _

Looking behind him, he froze. The woman had quickened her pace when she noted his distress. She would be on him within a couple of minutes.

That was the last thing he needed. Scrambling to his feet, he staggered away.

_Mind over matter. Mind over matter. I am what I think. I'm a bird, I'm a plane . . . _

His thoughts jumbled. The bright images of his best friend lying in a heap on the motel room floor mingled with memories of Sky's bloodied corpse and the intense blue-eyed gaze of a dying soldier. The camp guard they called Ferret stared at him through lifeless eyes, his blood still spurting from a knife wound Murdock had inflicted.

_Not real. Not real. _

"Not real. Not real. Not real!" His internal mumbling became a frenzied chant.

_But every one o' those things happened. I killed the guys, Sky, Ferret, that young G. I. . . . Okay, so maybe I didn' kill Sky 'n' that guy in my chopper but I didn' get 'em t' safety fast 'nough either. _

He wasn't sure whether the heat was affecting his brain but it was beginning to affect his body. The nausea that tormented his stomach and the onset of dizziness were one thing. Now a strange weakness in his muscles made him feel like lying down and resting.

Ahead of him the walls of the Rockville Bench to his right and the petrified forest plateau to his left met in a dryfall. Long ago what little water flowed over the rock edge brought with it large chunks of petrified wood and other debris to clog the waterfall. A splash of green, what was called a hanging garden, clung to the sandstone surface and spilled over the sides of the walls.

The Huber Wash Trail officially ended here. He allowed his instinct, schooled by the remote viewing session, to guide him about a hundred feet to the west. This spot was where he could climb up to find the Chinle Trail. From there, he would find a way to get to the mountain.

It was what climbers considered a Class Three scramble, steep but requiring no equipment to carry out. Any use of his hands would be to keep his balance, not to support the weight of his body. An easy climb or a more difficult hike, whichever way you looked at it. Ordinarily that kind of rock face was something he would have had no trouble scaling.

_After all, I've shimmied up my share o' ladders, obstacle course walls 'n' drain pipes on th' sides o' buildin's. Should be a piece o' . . . _

He sucked in a breath as the mental image of Hannibal falling dead to the motel floor mocked him.

"Murdock! Wait!"

He paled at the sound of Sky's voice. The next moment, he began wildly clawing his way to the top of the rocky slope. He didn't look back. He couldn't. Too many ghosts were pursuing him now for him to risk looking back.

_Not real. Not real. _

"Murdock! Please! Wait!"

He ignored the voice. If he turned he was afraid the face he saw would be bruised and bloodied almost beyond recognition.

_Like Sky's was th' last time I saw 'er. _

A sob escaped. He wasn't sure if it was the exertion of the climb or the release of pent-up emotion.

_I am what I think I am. A bird, a plane . . . _

He was almost to the top and reaching for the edge so he could keep his balance when all the corpses from his past formed a collage in his mind. The images immobilized him and made him shudder with their combined impact.

_. . . a murderer. _

oooooo

Amy saw Murdock stop to rub his head and drink some of the water in his bag. While she was relieved he was trying to keep himself hydrated, she knew he was massaging away a headache, and headache was one of the symptoms of heat exhaustion.

_I can't hold back now. I have to intervene. He can't continue at this pace or he'll kill himself. _

When Murdock doubled up over his stomach, she made her feet move faster.

_Stomach cramping. That's another sign. Oh God, Murdock! You're killing yourself. _

He looked back at her and she realized from the look on his face that he was going to bolt.

She began to jog to keep up, hoping the pace would not increase her own risk for heat exhaustion.

_No one but Doctor Stafford knows we're out here and the likelihood of him telling anyone is next to nil. _

The thought made her panic.

Her only chance was to call out to him, to get him to stop.

_But will he? _

"Murdock! Wait!"

He didn't look back again but started to frantically scramble up the sandstone slope.

_He heard me. I know he heard me. Why won't he stop? _

She called out again, more loudly this time. "Murdock! Please! Wait!"

He had almost reached the top of the climb. If he made it to the plateau, she would never catch up. She started to climb, keeping her eyes on the man on the slope above her.

_Please. Stop. _

And then he did. At first she thought he would turn around and come back down the rock face to let her help him.

She wasn't ready when he lost his balance and fell, tumbling backwards toward her.


	41. Chapter 41 Search Parties

Every Thought Captive

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 41 Search Parties

Colonel Jackson started with the motels on the western edge of Hurricane and worked his way through town. None of the places he stopped at had checked in a party of six adults in the last twenty-four hours. None of the cafes had served a group of five men and one woman either. There had been no murders in the city.

_That means only one thing. Murdock didn't kill his friends after all. He thinks he did. That much is certain. But he didn't. And that presents a problem. _

As he turned in to the parking area of the last motel on State Highway 9 before leaving town, he wondered if he would have to take a room and do some intense remote viewing to find Doctor Stafford. He knew he would have to watch his back and prevent Murdock's friends from finding either himself or the medical man.

He tried once again to "see" what Murdock was seeing. The kaleidoscopic whirlwind of images that swirled through his own mind could mean only one thing. The pilot was either extremely disoriented and unable to make sense of his surroundings or he was lying unconscious somewhere. Either case meant he was succumbing to the oppressive heat of the day.

But in an area as vast and rugged as Zion National Park, Jackson would have to hire out a chopper to find him. Even then, there might be problems getting clearance to land it on federally protected land.

_If exterminating that little gun runner Cazador was not so important, I wouldn't care if I found Murdock alive or not. I'll have to resort to an air search even if the doctor tells me where he dropped him off. _

As he entered the office, he noted the tired faded look of the carpet and wallpaper. The brightest thing in the entire room was the unnatural red hair color of the wrinkled woman behind the desk.

He decided to ask his question, fairly certain she would not have good news for him about the people he was tracking.

Before he could utter a word, the name at the bottom of the desk register and the number of adults in the group caught his eye.

_Professor Horace Pepper. They were here. Now to find out where Murdock, Stafford and the reporter went after leaving here. _

He turned to the woman behind the desk and quickly analyzed her. If necessary, he would use his military credentials.

_She's one of those patriotic types that's only too willing to help her government track down four fugitives and their two prisoners. _

"If you want a room, you need to sign in," she instructed, pushing the pen and register closer to him. He shook his head and pasted on his most charming smile.

"Don't need a room but some information would be welcome, ma'am. You could be instrumental in helping me free a couple of hostages and bring their kidnappers to justice." He smiled even wider as he watched her expression change from bored to surprised and finally smug.

_Yes, indeed. She will be more than willing to help me. _

oooooo

"You let Amy go after him?" Face ran the fingers of his hand through his hair in frustration as he stared at the stark desert scenery of the Huber Wash Trail and then at the man in front of him.

Doctor Stafford shrugged. He leaned back against the driver's side door and inhaled deeply from the cigarette he held."I couldn't stop her. She's a very determined woman." He wouldn't tell the Lieutenant that he was actually happy to have gotten rid of her.

_If only I hadn't stopped at that motel, I would be helping Jackson locate the test subject and we would be back on schedule with Silent Arrow. But at least we know now that the Captain will follow through with any instruction we give him through the neuroelectromagnetic device. _

B. A. and Hannibal were already putting together a first aid kit and supplies so they could search for the two hikers.

As they did, B. A. nodded toward the bomber jacket in the back seat. "Fool never goes nowhere without that jacket, Hann'bal. Don't seem right he'd leave it here. You think he's plannin' ta do somethin'?"

The Colonel froze the black Sergeant with a solemn glance. "I don't know what he's thinking right now, B. A., but we need to prepare for the worst case scenario."

Face joined them and frowned at the doctor. "He isn't too broken up over this whole thing. Amy could be dying out there . . . "

"But if what the doctor said is true, at least _she_ brought enough food and water to survive for a while. Murdock didn't. And he's armed with live ammo now." Hannibal lifted a backpack onto his shoulders. "Is the doctor ready?"

Stafford scowled in their direction and ground out the cigarette under his foot. "I don't see why I have to come with you. It was your fault you let him get the drop on you."

Face rushed him. Pushing the other man against the side of the van and holding his throat with one hand, he drew back his fist.

"Lieutenant!" Hannibal stopped the younger man with his sharp tone.

Glaring at the medical man, Face released him and backstepped three paces. Jabbing a finger at Stafford, he snapped, "The two people I care about more than anything in the world are out there, maybe dead, all because of your _work_. You'd better hope B. A. and Hannibal don't ever leave me alone with you, you bastard, or I'll kill you with my bare hands."

"That's enough, Lieutenant!" The older man gripped Face by the upper arm and pulled him back.

"Faceman's just sayin' what all of us are thinkin', Hannibal. Even you, and ya can't tell me no diff'rent," B. A. muttered, slinging a pack to his shoulder. "We don't even know if what these jokers did ta the crazy man can be reversed."

Hannibal set his mouth in a firm line and gestured toward the trail with his head. "We _won't_ know if it can be reversed if we don't find him. Move out, Sergeant. Face, you've got the rear. I'll keep the doctor here moving."

As they headed out along Huber Wash, the Colonel muttered to the scientist, "If either Amy or Murdock are injured or dead, I may not be able to prevent either of those two from tearing you limb from limb. Better start praying we find them safe and alive, doc."

oooooo

A half hour after gleaning what he needed to know from the motel manager, Colonel Jackson peered down at the asphalt ribbon of highway that traversed the red sandstone formations west of Rockville. Beside him the helicopter pilot turned tour guide continued to talk, giving the military man the spiel he normally used for tourists.

"There! Make a pass over that van." The Colonel sucked in a sharp breath as he spotted the black vehicle parked on a side road.

The pilot scowled and did as he was directed. Why not? He was getting paid well to do this. It didn't matter to him if this customer wasn't as awed over the park's scenery as other tourists usually were.

"Is there a trail where that van is?" The Colonel focused the binoculars on the vehicle and then scanned the wash.

"Yeah. But the people who took that trail's gotta be stupid to go hiking on it this time of year. The wash trails in this part of Zion can be like a furnace in the summer. Hope they packed a lot of water or we'll be calling in a search and rescue request." The pilot peered ahead at the faint path through the desert.

"Follow that trail." The Colonel kept the binoculars trained on the terrain below as the chopper moved north along the wash.

oooooo

Murdock woke slowly. He cracked his eyelids open and immediately shut them again when the sun threatened to blind him.

_Best wait for a few minutes, get my bearin's b'fore I try 'n' figure out what's goin' on. _

He tried to summon up enough saliva to wet his chapped lips and couldn't. He was dehydrated. That was certain_. _

Something warm trickled down his cheek. Raising his hand to the fluid stream, he realized from the texture and smell it was blood. His blood.

He thought hard to remember what he had done to end up lying on his back on rocky ground with the sun beating down on him. Obviously he must have fallen from somewhere. He had to figure out where he was and how badly he was injured.

_Let's try this 'gain. _

He turned his head to the left to avoid looking directly into the sun and carefully opened his eyes. A few feet away, a pale-gray-backed bird with a striped throat and a long slender bill pecked at the soil to unearth insects to eat. When Murdock moved his head, the rock wren startled and flew to a nearby cluster of Western yarrow abloom with tiny pinkish-white flowers. A series of trilled songs erupted from the bird's throat. The slope Murdock had tumbled from formed a harsh backdrop to the songbird.

In wonderment he let his gaze travel up the steep incline and heard a low moan from somewhere to his right. Cautiously swiveling his head in that direction, he panicked when he located the source of the sound.

"Amy?" His voice came out as a barely audible croak. "Amy!"

_Oh God, no. _

He shuddered as he forced himself to roll over onto his belly. Every part of his body seemed to hurt. Painfully, he crawled on hands and knees over red rock shards toward her. Along the way he picked up his cap where it had fallen and finally collapsed on his side by the barely conscious woman. She squinted at him and for a second he thought she would send him away.

"Don't leave me, Murdock. Please." He was grateful to hear her whispered words. She reached out and grasped his wrist for a moment before releasing it. Her hand fell to the ground. The other hand was bent at an awkward angle from her forearm, an obvious broken wrist.

_How bad is she hurt? _

"I won't. I won't, darlin'." As he stroked her hair back from her face, he thought of his best friend. The memories of the motel room and the fall from the rocky slope struck him full force and he closed his eyes. "Oh God, Amy. Can ya ever forgive me?" His eyes stung with tears that could not form.

She didn't answer.

Alarmed, he gazed at her and realized she had drifted back into unconsciousness.

Judging from the angry red condition of the reporter's skin and the sudden chill he felt over the exposed parts of his body, he realized they both had severe sunburns.

_Musta been layin' here for a while. She's gonna die if I don' do somethin'. _

He craned his head around, looking for the pack he remembered he had with him. His duffel bag lay at the foot of the slope, several feet away. His Browning and ammo were in there as well as four bottles of water he had her pack for him earlier. He groaned as he measured the distance.

_I'm gonna hafta go get that sooner 'r later. _

Amy was half-lying on her own backpack.

Gently he unhooked the pack from around her shoulders and carefully lifted her enough to get it out from under her. Peering inside, he found the four water bottles, towel, socks, M & Ms and beef jerky and frowned.

Eight bottles of water, one of them almost empty, were not going to last both of them for long in this heat. He needed to use at least one to wet down the towel and scarf around her head and keep Amy's skin moist. It was the only way he knew to prevent her from developing heat stroke.

Ignoring the jagged rock digging into his hands and knees, he knelt beside her and doused the towel with the remains of the opened bottle.

As he swabbed her face and arms with the wet cloth, her eyelids fluttered open. He breathed a sigh of relief.

"I'm gonna lift your head up a little 'n' I want ya t' drink some water. Then I'm gonna feed ya some M & Ms." He hushed her protests with a forefinger over her lips. "No argument, sweetie. Ya do that for me, okay? Face'd want me . . . " When he heard her gasp out a half-sob of grief, he could barely finish the sentence. ". . . t' take care o' you, keep ya safe."

"You too," she whispered.

"What?" He tried to pretend he didn't understand what she meant. He focused instead on uncapping a water bottle and raising her head to tip the contents into her mouth.

She shook her head weakly and refused any more water. "You too." Her words were a bit stronger this time.

Thinking quickly, he made an elaborate show of bringing the bottle to his mouth.

_VA gave me lotsa practice pretendin' t' swallow all sorts o' stuff. I gotta make sure she has 'nough 'til she's rescued. _

He kept his lips sealed against the water and hoped he fooled her. When she gave him a weak smile of approval, he breathed easier.

Opening a pack of candies, he dumped several into his open palm.

Starting with the yellow ones, he fed them to her one by one, keeping her awake with a story he made up as he went along.

"I ever tell ya 'bout the Great Candy Bowl War?" She shook her head and he slipped a yellow M & M between her lips. "Well, it goes somethin' like this . . . "

As he fed Amy and cared for her injuries, he hoped someone, even if it was Colonel Jackson, would find them soon.


	42. Chapter 42 Landing

Every Thought Captive

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 42 Landing

As the chopper flew over on its way north along Huber Wash, all four men glanced up. Only one recognized the man who impassively looked down at them from the passenger's seat.

Stafford carefully composed his expression so the others would not catch on.

_That's Jackson. He's looking for Captain Murdock, too. _

"If it wasn't for you, B. A., and your fear of flying, we might have been able to search from the air in one of those. Might have found them already, too." Face gave the black Sergeant a pointed look and wiped the sweat from his forehead with a monogrammed white handkerchief. He folded it and put it back in his pants pocket before swallowing some water from a bottle he took from his pack.

B. A. glared at the con man. "We don't find the fool an' Amy this way, ya may hafta look for 'em that way. I just ain' gettin' in no plane or chopper."

Hannibal took a swig from his own water bottle and shielded his eyes from the sun as he followed the helicopter's flight pattern. "Might be a tour chopper, but would they be flying in this sector of the park?"

Face agreed. "Yeah, the real scenery is around the Zion Canyon and Kolob Terrace areas." He took a rueful look around at the scrub desert vegetation and lifted his pack higher on his shoulders. "Certainly not here."

The Colonel glanced at Doctor Stafford and offered water to him. The scientist shrugged and accepted it with a faint "thanks." He kept his eyes on the chopper as he drank.

_If Jackson gets to Murdock first, and it's looking like that's what's going to happen, I'll have to watch for an opportunity to escape. I can't let Jackson send the Captain on that suicide mission. There has to be another way to get rid of Cazador. _

"Something wrong, doc?" Hannibal eyed the doctor suspiciously.

"No. Nothing at all." Even as he spoke, the helicopter stopped moving forward and hovered over a section of the wash far ahead, another half-hour's worth of hiking.

oooooo

Colonel Jackson straightened in his seat as they passed over the four men on the trail. He trained the binoculars on the middle two hikers and recognized the medical man.

"_There _you are. I had a feeling I'd see you sooner or later, doctor," he muttered under his breath.

To the chopper pilot he gave a thumbs-up and pointed ahead. "We're on the right track. Those four are looking for the same two people I am."

The pilot nodded and kept the chopper flying over the middle of the wash. Just as they approached the place where the plateau with the petrified forest remains and Rockville Bench intersected, he jabbed his finger ahead to get Colonel Jackson's attention. "Are those the two missing hikers?"

The military man aimed the binoculars at the two people lying on the desert soil near the base of the slope that marked the end of the Huber Wash Trail.

"Yeah, it is. Looks like they've had a bit of trouble. Can you land somewhere near them?" Jackson kept his eyes on the Captain as he peered up at the helicopter and struggled to his knees. He feebly waved his arms to get their attention.

Moments later, Murdock bent over the prone woman on the ground and stroked her face, trying to rouse her. Jackson located the Captain's pack at the bottom of the slope and narrowed his eyes.

_Murdock hasn't been listening to the music on the radio. No wonder his thoughts were so scrambled. Right now, that music is the only thing keeping him from going insane. _

At least, that was what the doctor told him would eventually happen. The more Murdock listened to the special broadcasts Jackson had programmed for that frequency, the more focused on the mission he would become. The music and the underlying subliminal messages and tones would form a new neural framework for the pilot's brain. Even so, Jackson continued to monitor Murdock's thoughts and plant false memories to fine tune the program and keep the pilot on track with the mission.

"I really shouldn't take the chopper down on federal land without clearance, sir. I'm just an aerial tour guide, not a paramedic. I can call for help . . . " The pilot's voice came over the headset. He sounded apprehensive.

"Those two may be dying down there and you're worried over some federal regulations? I am a Colonel with the United States Army, sir, and one of those two hikers is a runaway from an important federal project. Are you going to stand in the way of your government?" The military man made his voice as authoritative as he could.

_If you don't land this bird now, I'll be forced to draw my weapon and make you do it. _

He could see the hesitation in the other man's face. The chopper continued to hover.

He was suddenly aware of someone probing his thoughts. He cursed under his breath.

_It's Murdock. He's gotten better at this than I thought he ever would. _

Jackson trained the field glasses on Murdock again. The Captain had recognized him and was attempting to crawl toward his duffel bag. His hands clawed at the desert rock as he pulled himself inches at a time toward the slope.

_I can't let you do that, Captain. _

His message got through to the man on the ground. Murdock glanced up over his shoulder once more before collapsing, his arm stretched out toward the bag. His fingers were less than a yard from it. His limbs twitched with the onset of a sun-induced seizure.

Jackson let the binoculars fall to his chest from their strap. He reached under his jacket and removed his pistol from its shoulder holster. Clicking off the safety and pointing the barrel at the other man's head, he gestured toward the two hikers.

"Take us down or this will be the last flight you ever make."

oooooo

Amy drifted in and out of consciousness as Murdock told his story about M and Ms battling each other, one color against the other, to take over the candy dish on the table. Every time he slipped a candy between her lips, she captured it with her tongue and let it melt in her mouth. She couldn't chew; she could barely raise her voice above a whisper.

"Ya still with me, Amy darlin'? Try 'n' picture it. The red M 'n' M's got hold o' some guns. Stuck 'em in a cave, see. Cazador, he was the one all th' other candies wanted t' be eaten. They got a chopper pilot t' fly 'im inta th' cave where all those guns were." Murdock popped another red M and M into her mouth.

She squinted at him. The name Cazador seemed familiar somehow but she wasn't thinking clearly enough to associate the name with any memory she had of people she had interviewed.

_Cazador? _

Murdock gently cupped the back of her head in his hand and raised it. "Here. Li'l water'll wash th' candy down."

He lightly pressed the bottle rim to her lips but she kept her mouth closed.

Shaking her head, she glared at him through blurred vision. "You . . . drink."

He put the bottle to his lips and she tried to watch to make sure he got some.

He didn't. He was faking it and she hadn't caught on until now. She groaned at her stupidity.

_He's going to die if he doesn't drink some water. Why, Murdock, why?_

She gathered as much energy as she could spare and scolded him. "_You . . . drink . . . or I . . . won't._"

Her words had the desired effect. He gazed at her for a second and shook his head in exasperation before taking two gulps of the water.

"There. Happy now? I was trained by th' Army t' survive th' worst conditions. You weren't. Now you drink 'n' don' give me no more trouble." His voice had a sharp angry edge to it and she knew he would force her to stay alive if he could.

As long as he stayed with her, she knew she would survive. But what about him?

oooooo

Murdock lay beside Amy, on his side facing her so he could see immediately if her condition worsened. He had finished telling her the story and feeding her the M and Ms several minutes ago. He couldn't remember the details of the fantasy tale he related but somehow the name Cazador stuck in his mind. Had he used the name in the story or was he imagining it? Where had he come up with that name?

Halfway through the story, Amy refused any more water, suspicious he wasn't drinking any. He kept pressuring her to drink and managed to get a few mouthfuls in her after he drank one or two himself.

_Didn' wanna do that. Ain' got 'nough for both o' us but if it keeps her from dyin' . . . _

He glanced at his duffel bag and regretted not going to get it when he still had the strength.

_Thinkin' 'bout it ain' gonna bring it here. I'm gonna hafta make a try t' get it. _

Willing his body to move, he managed to raise his head and put one hand in front of him to push himself up. "Amy, darlin'? I gotta leave ya for a couple minutes t' go get that other bag." He anxiously searched her face for a response. Her lips moved but no words came out. "Amy?"

He heard the _thump-thump _of a chopper engine and wondered for a second if it was part of his heat exhaustion. At the familiar sound, he forced himself up on his forearm and squinted in the direction it came from. Then he saw it flying low along the wash toward them.

"Maybe a tour chopper? No one else but th' doctor knows we're out here. I gotta get their 'ttention. But how?" He tried to think but delirium and the bright images associated with remote viewing exercises muddled his mind. Amy hadn't packed a lighter or matches. Even if she had, he didn't have enough energy left to gather the dry grasses and kindling around them to start a signal fire.

He turned his worried eyes back on Amy. She moaned softly and blindly reached for his hand. "Don't leave me, Murdock," she whispered.

"I won't, chica. I won't." He felt her grip weaken as she lapsed back into a semi-conscious state. "Don' give up. Help's comin'. I jus' gotta show 'em where we are."

He forced himself back up on his knees, ignoring the sharp cuts the rock shards made in his skin. Summoning as much strength as he could, he waved his arms to get the pilot's attention.

"We're here. Don' go 'way," he gasped over the sandpaper rawness in his mouth and throat. When it looked as if the pilot realized they needed help, he leaned over the reporter. With one hand, he caressed Amy's cheek and murmured, "Wake up, sweetie. Please, wake up." No response.

Peering closer at the hovering aircraft, he sensed Jackson's presence. Without recognizing what he was doing, he faintly caught the essence of the military man's thoughts. Something about that psychic brush with the Colonel's mind made the alarms go off in Murdock's brain. When he 'heard' Jackson's unspoken threat to take out his pistol and use it to force the pilot to land, the Captain realized the danger he and Amy were in.

His gaze fell on his duffel bag. He remembered packing his Browning and ammo for it before leaving for Mount Kinesava.

_I gotta get t' that gun. I gotta protect Amy. _

A raspy whine escaped from his throat as he inched across the ground to get to his weapon. He couldn't believe how depleted his strength was. Handful after handful of jagged rock cut into the palms of his hands as he pulled himself along.

When he was a yard away from his goal, Jackson pierced through the terror and confusion in his mind and warned him.

_I can't let you do that, Captain. _

He shot a look over his shoulder at the military man in the chopper and stretched his arm out as far as it would go. He groaned as he realized the weapon was still out of reach. His combined movements drained every last bit of energy from him and plunged him into unconsciousness.

"Murdock? Where are you?" The noise of the landing helicopter drowned out Amy's weak cries.


	43. Chapter 43 Recaptured

Every Thought Captive

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 43 Recaptured

Sand and grit flew at Amy's face as she tried to figure out what was happening.

All she knew for certain was that Murdock was no longer at her side.

"Murdock? Where are you?" She attempted to shout over the rushing wind and fading thumping sound of a chopper engine. At least, she thought it was a helicopter. She wasn't sure she could trust her mind to tell her the truth about what was going on around her.

Her eyelids burned from the flying debris and the sun overhead. She could barely open her eyes to slits. When she did, she saw two blurry shadows moving past her.

"Wake him up. Here. Pour this over his head."

The voice seemed vaguely familiar to her. Or was this the mysterious Cazador Murdock had used in his story?

From somewhere came the sound of liquid splashing. Someone spluttered and gasped.

"Captain Murdock. Nice to see you again, too."

A pause.

"What? You're not happy to see me?" The tone had a sneering quality to it.

"Now that you're awake, you're coming with me. Where's your radio and ear buds? In there? Pass that bag to me."

There was a sound of something heavy being dropped on the ground. Moments later the voice commanded, "Get him in the chopper. I've got all he needs to take with him."

Two pairs of feet scuffled along the ground past her, one person kicking up a lot more dirt than the other. Whoever it was, he struggled against the movement toward the aircraft.

"No! No! Don' do what he says." That was Murdock, his rasping tone desperate and pleading. "Ya gotta help Amy. She's gonna die if ya don't 'n' he _knows_ it."

The footsteps stopped a yard away from her. "She looks really bad, mister. I'm gonna put him in the chopper and come back for the young woman."

"No, you aren't. Do what I say or you won't be flying out of here. Get him in that chopper and tie his hands behind him, then fasten him in securely so he doesn't escape. " Amy squinted and saw the sun glint off a metal object in the speaker's hand.

"Amy!" Murdock choked out her name as the man holding him upright forced him toward the helicopter.

"I can't do anything for her or he's gonna shoot me. Please, don't do anything that gets me killed." The tone of the chopper pilot was both apologetic and panicked.

"No . . . don' do this . . . don' . . . " Murdock's voice faded as the other man half-dragged him to the waiting chopper. In a surge of strength he called out her name one last time. "Amy!"

More footsteps approached her and stopped. "_If_ your friends get here in time for you, you can tell them not to follow us."

"My . . . friends?" she managed to croak.

"Yes, his and your friends. They were lucky at that motel that Captain Murdock didn't blow their brains out. The next time they might not be so lucky. He's mine. He will do whatever I tell him to. Tell them that."

He dropped Murdock's bag a yard away from her, temporarily out of her reach. "There's water in there. Your friends probably won't get here for another twenty minutes so I would ration what you have left." He began to move past her, then smiled down at her. "Oh, and give my regards to Doctor Stafford. I no longer have use for his services but tell him thanks for the technology and for retrieving Murdock from L. A. for me."

Seconds later the helicopter rotor blades began to rotate faster. Amy dragged herself toward Murdock's bag and dug through the contents to find the pilot's Browning. Rolling onto her back, she tried to raise her arms enough to aim at the chopper but then dropped the gun to her side. Her eyesight was too blurry to see anything but the gleam of the sun on metal and glass.

_Even if I manage to hit something, there's a small chance I might either hurt or kill Murdock or make the chopper crash. _

She closed her eyes and prayed Hannibal, Face and B. A. would arrive soon.

oooooo

Hannibal paused and watched as the chopper in the sky dipped down and landed far ahead of them. "I have to assume Jackson found them. If we don't hurry, he'll have Murdock and Amy on that bird and we won't know where he's taken them."

Face pushed on past the doctor and Hannibal. "Pick up the pace then. He doesn't need Amy for any reason except possibly to persuade Murdock to do what he wants."

"He doesn't need her for that either," Stafford mumbled as he sidestepped a beach ball-sized boulder. Face didn't hear him. The Colonel did.

Hannibal eyed him but said nothing. All Stafford's statement meant was that Jackson might leave Amy in the desert heat once he had Murdock.

_That's bad enough. We have to find her quickly and get back to the van as soon as we can to try to trace that chopper. _

The pilot was a fighter. He wouldn't go with the Colonel willingly if he was still in his right mind. But from all indications, Murdock was not in his right mind.

_He would never have tried to kill us if he wasn't being coerced in some way to do it. Could mind control make Murdock do what he doesn't want to? _

Hannibal had seen hypnotists in action but the worst thing they ever did was to make people under their control cluck like chickens. Not try to kill anyone.

They hastened along in silence, sweat dripping from their faces and making their clothes stick to their bodies.

"Hannibal!" B. A. shouted and pointed ahead to where the chopper was lifting off the ground. They were still too far away to see exactly who was in the cockpit or passengers' seats. It rose in the air and took a direct flight away from the trail and westward toward Hurricane.

"We've got to assume Jackson and Murdock are on that chopper." Hannibal said it with a sick feeling in his stomach. He stopped where he was, shielding his eyes against the sun and watching the chopper until it was a dot in the sky.

"So what should we do, Hannibal? Get back to the van and try checking every helicopter service in the area?" Face slowed down and let the Colonel and doctor catch up to him.

"No, because Amy won't be on that chopper. Right, doc?" Hannibal stopped and gave the medical man a look that demanded a straight answer.

"What do you mean?" Face frowned at both men. "Jackson wouldn't leave someone to die in this heat, would he?"

Stafford took the pack of cigarettes from his pocket and removed one. Sticking it between his lips, he took care to light it and inhale before speaking. "If Jackson has the Captain again, he won't need to use the girl's safety as a bribe. Jackson has methods at his disposal to get what he wants. By now, Captain Murdock is going to do what the Colonel says with very little thought and no remorse."

"Then Amy's still ahead of us on the trail. She wouldn't have let them take Murdock if she was able to prevent it. Just like he would protect her with his life." Face swung his attention to B. A. as he returned to find out why they had stopped.

"Face's right. Amy's got guts. Only way they woulda got Murdock on that chopper is if she wasn' able to stop 'em. Same thing with th' fool. He ain' in very good shape if they got him ta get on that bird. He wouldn'ta gone 'less he was forced an' too weak ta resist." The Sergeant scanned the doctor with a large amount of distaste reflected in his scowl.

"Amy needs us." The Lieutenant's simple assessment of the situation prompted the team members to a quicker pace.

"If that woman dies because you let her go after Murdock, Face won't be the only one who'll want both you and Jackson to pay dearly." Hannibal grabbed Stafford by the elbow and pulled him along after them. The doctor barely had time to crush his cigarette underfoot.

oooooo

Murdock regained consciousness to the shock of tepid water being poured over his head. Some got into his nose and made him sputter for breath. When he opened his eyes, the first person he saw was Colonel Jackson. Someone else, likely the chopper pilot, stood behind him.

"Captain Murdock. Nice to see you again, too." If he had the strength to push himself to his feet, he would wipe that leering grin off the military man's face. He balled his hands into fists, wanting in his heart to do as much injury to Jackson as he had seen him do to others in Nam.

_But he's got th' upper hand right now. _

Jackson sneered as he bent down to look Murdock in the eyes. "What? You're not happy to see me? Now that you're awake, you're coming with me."

The Captain strained to see beyond the two men standing in front of him.

_I gotta know what shape Amy's in. _

His vision was too blurred to see clearly but it seemed as if she wasn't moving at all.

"Where's your radio and ear buds?"

Jackson's question reminded Murdock of something.

_My bag. I got my gun in there. If I could jus' get to it . . . _

He gave the olive drab duffel a furtive glance before glaring back at Jackson.

"In there? Pass that bag to me."

Murdock realized his mistake and quietly groaned.

The chopper pilot picked it up and dropped it on the ground at Jackson's feet. The Colonel shook his head in mock disappointment as he surveyed the contents. He reached in and took out the ear buds and radio, dangling them in the Captain's face for a second and smiling before pocketing them. Nodding to the other man, he ordered, "Get him in the chopper. I've got all he needs to take with him."

The tour pilot carefully lifted Murdock by his underarms to his feet, gripping him around the waist to keep him upright. Giving the Captain an apologetic shrug, the pilot began to move with him to the chopper.

Murdock tried to dig in his heels but couldn't get any traction against the forward movement. Dust rose from under his high top tennis shoes as he struggled.

He looked down at Amy as they passed. Wincing at the sight of her sunburned blistered skin and cracked bleeding lips, he noted a faint rapid rise and fall of her chest and realized she was alive.

_Atta girl, Amy. Don' give up. _

He tried to appeal to the chopper pilot, to get him to stop and give the reporter assistance. "No! No! Don' do what he says. Ya gotta help Amy. She's gonna die if ya don't 'n' he _knows_ it."

The other man scanned the reporter's plight from where he stopped about a yard away. Glancing up at Jackson with concern in his eyes, he gripped Murdock tighter. "She looks really bad, mister. I'm gonna put him in the chopper and come back for the young woman."

Murdock's internal rejoicing was short-lived. Jackson aimed a gun at the two of them and threatened the tour pilot. "No, you aren't. Do what I say or you won't be flying out of here. Get him in that chopper and tie his hands behind him, then fasten him in securely so he doesn't escape."

Crying out Amy's name once more, Murdock felt his energy waning. The other man strong-armed him toward the chopper, muttering an apology as he did.

"I can't do anything for her or he's gonna shoot me. Please, don't do anything that gets me killed."

"No . . . don' do this . . . don' . . . " Murdock continued to plead. Just as they reached the helicopter, he gathered his strength and yelled her name again.

The chopper pilot drew out a length of rope from behind one of the seats. "Please, I hafta do this or he'll kill me. Don't make it difficult."

Murdock stared sullenly at the man for a second before complying and putting his hands behind his back.

The chopper pilot cinched the loop of rope around the Captain's wrists and tied them securely. Helping Murdock into the rear passenger's seat and fastening him in with a harness, the pilot mumbled, "Look. Soon as I get this bird back home and you two leave, I'll call the authorities to find you and get a search and rescue team out here for your friend. I can't do any more than that."

"Ya know he's jus' as likely t' kill ya once ya get us back t' th' helipad, don'tcha? I know this man. He don' play by th' rules."

The tour pilot gave him an uncertain look, then took his seat in the front.

Murdock sighed in frustration. Much as he wanted it to be different, he knew he couldn't ask an innocent civilian to risk his life.

He craned his neck to try to see what was happening between Amy and Jackson. It would be just like Jackson to kill Amy himself so there were no reasons to delay their flight.

_If he shoots 'er . . . _

But the military man carried the duffel bag over to Amy and placed it just out of her reach.

_At least she's got th' rest o' th' water in my bag. If she can get to it. _

For a minute the Colonel spoke to the reporter, then moved away from her toward the chopper. When he got there, he dug the ear buds and radio out of his pocket. Placing the listening devices in Murdock's ears and turning on the radio he smiled. "There you go. Some music to get your mind back on business."

The radio was playing The Rolling Stones' Paint It Black. He could not block out the song. Nor could he block out the underlying trigger tones that persuaded him to forget Amy and everything else except Cazador and the mission to assassinate him. He clenched his bound hands together and tore skin with his fingernails to try to focus on something else. It was impossible.

Seeing Murdock's weakening resistance, Jackson nodded, a satisfied smirk on his face. There would be no more trouble. He briskly strode to the copilot's seat and climbed in. Within seconds, the pilot got the rotor blades rotating and lifted the helicopter into the sky.


End file.
